Venefica
by aqueenofokay
Summary: Folklore was created to explain the unexplainable. However, these stories sometimes just aren't stories.
1. Prologue

**1686**

The sun was close to the horizon, the tall trees looking ablaze with sunlight. Clouds turned pink, purple and red. It was getting late, every minute getting darker. The large musket in Brian's hands was heavy, but his empty sack thrown over his shoulder felt heavier. If he didn't bring something home to eat, there would be nothing for weeks. It was past harvest; it would be cold soon. Brian couldn't risk letting his family and neighbours go hungry during the winter.

A cold wind picked up, the leaves fluttering around him. The back of his neck prickled. He turned, expecting to see movement among the trees but there was nothing. He took a breath and kept walking, leaves and branches snapping under his boots. His knee-length velvet coat was caught in the cold wind. Brian pulled his collar closer to his face. He'd left his hat at home for once.

"Did you hear? They hung those women." Someone had said in town earlier that day. News had reached them from a town a few miles away. The devil was everywhere.

"Don't think about it." Brian said to himself. He shouldn't have listened. The two men who had brought the news claimed they hunted witches and said that they would stay for a while to make sure that the devil didn't dare rear his head here. Brian found comfort in that but it all seemed to disappear in the darkening woods. "Don't think about it...Just find a rabbit and go home. There is nothing to fear." He wished he hadn't come alone. He found himself whispering a prayer as he walked through the darkening woods. He considered going to the church on his way home to ask for a blessing but the stories of the ghost that wandered up and down the aisle at night scared him.

"He's waiting...Waiting for his mother to come home...The Grim won't protect us because he's waiting." Someone had drunkenly said to him at the tavern one night. Brian hated those stories. He hated them so much. They never made sense. They were full of riddles.

"Stupid stories." Brian muttered.

The wind whispered in Brian's ear. He turned again and stopped. There was a rabbit, it's nose twitching, it's grey ears pointed towards the sky. Brian's hands shook as he slowly raised the gun. He prayed his aim was true for the rabbit would be gone by the time he had reloaded the large gun. With a pull of the trigger, gunpowder and smoke filled the air around him, the crack of the bullet echoing through the trees. When the smoke cleared, the rabbit was gone.

"Damn it." Brian cursed. Attached to his belt was a small bag of gunpowder, which he opened with shaking hands, trying to reload his gun as quickly as he could. A branch snapped behind him. Brian spun around, the black powder spilling to the forest floor. "Someone there?" The forest seemed quieter. Brian shook his head, telling himself he was stupid and went back to reloading his gun.

A sudden force threw Brian to the ground, gunpowder spilling everywhere. He lay dazed in the forest floor for a few moments, looking up at the darkening sky with confusion before the adrenaline reached him. He scrambled to his feet and took off running into the woods, leaving his gun behind. Pine nettles scratched at his face as he pushed the branches aside in his panic. "Where's the path?" He cried, frantically stumbling through the forest.

Up ahead, something dark darted through the trees. Brian stopped, lost and terrified. He had no idea where the path was. The birds had stopped singing. "Damn it, damn it! Who's there?" Brian called out into the woods. There was no answer. High up in a tree above him, an owl turned it's head backwards to look down at the man."I know you're there! I demand that you show yourself!"

Something coiled around Brian's ankle and pulled. It felt like his leg came out its socket. He crashed to the forest floor, biting his tongue open. Blood filled his mouth, dripping down his chin to the forest floor. Centipedes and ants crawled over his hands, finding their way up his coat sleeves. Pain shot through his arms as they bit into his flesh. Brian screamed, trying to get the bugs off him when the thing coiled around his leg pulled again with force. He screamed in absolute terror as he dragged across the forest floor, dragging his hands through dead leaves and insects in an attempt to get away. With every movement, it only pulled more. Brian's hands suddenly gripped a root sticking out of the ground under the dead, orange leaves. Splinters found their way into his skin. He clung to the root with all his strength, screaming for anyone to help him.

Leaves crunched under a boot. Brian looked up, his sight blurry with tears. A dark figure made their way through the trees, their long black cloak dragging over the leaves. Gold thread glinted in the moonlight. Brian knew that face. In his amazement and horror, his grip loosened. The thing pulled. Brian screamed again as he was dragged into the dark woods.

The rabbit watched him with its black beady eyes before moving back into the dark.


	2. Chapter 1

2017

Craig felt like screaming. He tapped his orange whiteboard pen against the desk in front of him, debating what to do. The first year history class was nearly empty, only a handful of students spread throughout the cold classroom; it was still too early for the heating to be turned on. Sure, he was an assistant professor, but he wished they would take that more seriously. Taking a breath, Craig turned and drew a long line across the board, catching the attention of the students in the room.

"Now, I'm sure you might already know this...but if you're going to study folklore, you have to look at time and periods of time. At the start, we have the Pagan world- where life and history is a circle." Craig drew a circle over the end of the timeline. "Does anyone know why?" One of the students raised his hand. "Scott?"

"Everything was circular. Seasons, destiny. Fate. It just comes back again." Scotty explained. Craig nodded.

"Right. We moved forward to the time of Faith. When the Church and God had all the power. God put Kings on earth. There was the 'Great Chain of Being'. I believe it was during this time surprisingly, that much of the folklore we know today, came into being. There's the Vampire in the traditional myth which as you know, was an explanation for Tuberculosis. People came up with stories so they could understand what was happening."

"What about witches? They don't explain something naturally occurring." One of the students pointed out.

"That they don't. They are by the far, the most irrational thing that humans have come with, folklore concerning. Witches were used as an excuse, as a way to create fear and paranoia. People would go around writing these books on how to hunt witches, on what to look for. In Europe and in America, many people were killed. If we move past this time in history…" He reached towards the third quarter of the line. "We reach the Enlightenment and with the loss of the French king's head, we reach the beginning of the Modern era. Folklore in this period becomes more like stories and less like things that people used to explain the world. Now we have historical records, we look at things much differently than people did back then. Does that make it less real? For them, that was all they knew...For us...We know so many different views and ideas, one might say it's still real while someone else will say it isn't." Craig leaned against his desk, tapping the marker against the desk.

"And what do you think?" One of the students asked with a smile. Craig met his gaze, thinking about how to answer that question.

"I think that when there is nothing around you but an endless wilderness such was the case for many of the origins of these stories we have now, your mind races to explain the unexplainable fear of the unknown you have. When you are alone, you fear the dark. Now, we live in a time where it hardly gets dark. Depending on where you live, you may never see pitch darkness. You know what's around the corner or on the other side of the door. We know." Craig held up the marker. "I know what will happen when I drop this. I don't need to think of a story to explain it. If one of my relatives is dying of an illness, I don't need to think of some creature that may be the cause of it."

"So you think then that these creatures that were so real to people are just stories?" Scotty asked.

"Stories that can tell us a lot about people and what they were scared of."

Craig had barely sat down at his desk in his office when there was a knock at the door. He looked up to see Simone, the professor he worked as an assistant for.

"Brought you coffee. How was class today?"

"Covered the notes in detail like you asked but it was mostly discussion. It was almost empty." Craig sighed as Simone set his mug down on the desk. She patted his shoulder gently.

"Don't feel bad about it. It says more about them then it does about you, Craig." Simone smiled. "There are always going to be classes like that." Craig nodded, taking a sip from his coffee. "How is your paper coming along?"

"Along." Craig laughed. Simone playfully hit his shoulder.

"Stop procrastinating. You're a horrible example!" She joked. "Do you at least have a topic?"

"There's an old colonial-era town in North Carolina that apparently had a lot of weird stuff. Luke is borrowing some artefacts from the museum there, he's gonna call me when it arrives. I'm gonna see if I can write about it." Craig explained.

"Good luck." Simone smiled, setting her mug down on the desk before reaching into her bag for a stack of papers. "In the meantime, can you do me a big favour and go through these?" She set the stack down on the desk and picked her mug back up before he could answer. It was proposals from the students for their next essay.

"Yeah. I'll get on that." Craig nodded.

"Thank you!" And with that, she was gone. Craig leaned back in his chair, taking another sip from his coffee. Glancing at his phone, the only notification was a staff-wide email reminding them about where to park to avoid the piles of snow left behind by snowploughs that the coming winter promised.

Setting his phone down, he got to work on marking the essays. He tapped his pen on the desk, slowly realising that he had read the same sentence three times when his phone went off with a text. "Artifacts are here" it read.

"Thank god." Craig grabbed his coat and tossed his pen down onto the stack of papers, heading out into the hallway.

"Craig! I'm so glad I ran into you!" He turned, a smile spreading on his face. The young woman smiled as she caught up to him. "Are we still up for drinks later?" Sami asked. Like Craig, she was in the assistant program. She had sat beside him on the first day, her smile when she looked at him as bright as it was today.

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to it." He smiled, stuffing his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with them.

"Where are you going?" She asked with a bright smile.

"Oh, my professor...He's got some stuff for my thesis." Craig explained. Sam started to walk down the hallway, her pace slow so she could keep eye contact with Craig which made him blush a little.

"Really? Is it more of that folklore stuff?"

"Yeah."

"That's cool. It's not too scary?"

"I only get nightmares sometimes." Craig laughed. "Most of the time they are just about all the shit I gotta do."

"Well, I'm always just a text away if you get too scared." She winked at him. "I'll see you tonight!" Craig smiled and continued on his way down the hall as she turned into her professor's office.

Outside it was a cold, crisp fall day. It wasn't cold enough to see his breath in the air, but enough to remind him that summer was over and the leaves were already starting to turn orange and red. It had been raining that morning when he left his quiet home outside of town. The trees had swayed in the wind and rain had splattered onto the windshield as he drove. Leaves had flown through the air and stuck to the windshield wipers.

He was grateful to open the door to the warm building but the cold wind following him inside. He made his way upstairs to the third floor, finding himself glancing at all the door numbers as if he didn't know where he was going. He'd walked this way hundreds of times before. He hoped to have an office here one day. He reached his professor's doors and knocked.

"Come in!" Luke called out. Craig opened the door to find that the office was dark, the only light coming from a small desk lamp. "It's all in here." He motioned to the large box on the desk as he got up. "I think they even sent something extra judging by this list." He handed the paper he had been looking at to Craig as he cut the tape and opened the box. Craig scanned the list, his gaze landing on the description of a book. "You didn't ask for a book, did you?"

"No." Craig shook his head. "Should I send it back?"

"It might be useful." Luke shrugged. "How is your thesis coming along?"

"Along." Craig said, his gaze down as he set the paper down and looked into the box. There were several things wrapped up to protect them from the elements, their details distorted by the plastic wrap. Luke tossed a pair of white gloves to him, a slightly disappointed look on his face. "This stuff will help me a lot." Craig promised.

"You're running out of time, Craig." Luke sighed.

"I know." Craig sighed, pulling the gloves on. He carefully lifted the first item out of the box, unwrapping it slowly. It was a frayed noose. "Jesus Christ." He almost dropped it. He had requested anything odd the museum might have, but couldn't help his shock.

"That was used in the town's last hanging. According to this, it was a bit of a crazed frenzy. Completely irrational." Luke laughed, handing the information card that came with it to Craig who skimmed it before returning his attention to the noose. Looking closely, there were faint red stains on the outside of the rope, as if the man hung by it had a wound on his face.

"It's amazing how good the condition of this is." Craig said quietly.

"Almost like someone put a spell on it." Luke mused. Craig glanced up at him, narrowing his eyes slightly before setting the rope down and moved onto the next item. It felt like heavy cloth, but when he opened the wrapping, he found that it was a beautiful velvet coat, the lapel and cuffs decorated with a deep golden thread. The information card said it belonged to a so-called witch hunter. Tucked under the left lapel, a cross was stitched with gold thread. He'd handled artefacts before but never in a condition like this. He'd love to go to the museum and see how they took care of the objects.

Craig glanced up at Luke who smiled at him like he was a child. Craig set the coat down, reaching into the box for the next item. It was a pen, the tip blackened with ink. At the bottom of the box, was the book. Craig stared it, a feeling of nervousness coming over him. Even though it was wrapped in bubble wrap, Craig could see the dark leather it was bound in."What is it?" Luke asked.

"Nothing." Craig picked up the book, carefully taking the bubble wrap off. Emboldened onto the leather was a cross. "Is this an attempt to be like the Hammer of the Witches?" Craig laughed, making reference to the infamous book that was said to responsible for the death of over three hundred supposed witches.

"Why don't you read it and find out?" Luke suggested with a smile.

"Read it?" Craig opened the book to the first page. The writing was in a beautiful cursive and should be barely legible yet it seemed clear to Craig.

"Why wouldn't you read it? It could be a valuable source, Craig." Craig had read several primary sources like this before. All were the same. People claimed that mysterious creatures and hellish witches had enchanted them or family members.

"I'll skim it." Craig said, turning the page to find more elaborate handwriting. "I was hoping to do more with the physical objects, not with words. So much of folklore is words and people forget about the objects. They hold just as much story." He set the book down, returning his attention to the rope. "For example, who was hung by this rope? Why was their face bleeding? Did an angry crowd member hit them? Did they do it to themselves? What was the lasting effect of their death? Who did they leave behind? What happened to them?"

"I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun with it. I'm looking forward to reading your paper, Craig." Luke smiled. "Have you considered taking a trip to this town?"

"No. My schedule doesn't have the room for it."

"I'm sure Simone wouldn't mind if you took some time off to go to this place," Luke said, helping Craig put the items back into the box.

"Maybe." Craig shrugged.

"Think about it. I think it could be really helpful for you." Luke insisted, his gaze narrowing on Craig. Craig stared at him, unable to move for a few seconds. Finally, Craig nodded.

"I'll read it." Craig said. Luke smiled and handed the box to him. "Thank you." He turned and left the office, making his way down the stairs and outside. He stopped when he opened the door, looking back up the stairs. The office building was the oldest building on campus, it's floors a dark wood that creaked under every step and tall windows. The red brick building watched over the campus as though it were a matron. He wondered why he said he'd the odd book. Craig lowered his gaze to the leather-bound book which sat on top of the other objects. He felt bound to read it. Craig shook his head, telling himself how ridiculous that sounded and stepped outside, hurrying back across campus. A cold wind blew across the campus, rattling the dead leaves.

Craig's pen dropped to the desk. He rubbed his eyes. Rain fell against the small office leaned back in his chair, stretching. He let out a yawn and picked up his phone. He still had an hour before his date with Sami. His eyes wandered to the box on the floor beside his desk.

He had to read that book.

Craig reached into the box, his fingers grazing against the velvet of the coat. He curled his fingers around the leather bound book. He placed it on top the papers on his desk, slowly opening it. The back of his neck prickled. Craig slammed the book closed.

"This is ridiculous." He pushed it aside, picking his pen back up to continue marking. He wasn't going to do his project on the book so why would he read it? He'd read enough to know what they are like. Why did Luke want him to waste his time on it? He shook his head at the thought. He looked down at the paper in front of him, his pen hovering over the page to mark a mistake. His eyes turned back to the book. The lamplight glinted off his glasses. The book taunted him. "I'm not scared to read it. I just don't want to." Craig said to the empty room. He glanced at the time again. He wondered if it'd dumb if he showed up forty minutes early. He couldn't tell Sami he was early because the book his professor gave him was giving him the creeps. Craig dropped his pen, running his hands through his hair. He didn't know what was making him feel this way. A book shouldn't taunt him; it couldn't.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at it. The leather was cracked and peeling but he could still make out the cross that had been carved into the cover. He reached his hand out, lifting the cover. On the first page was nothing but a signature signed with a dark red ink. He turned the page again, seeing faint splatters of something red across the page. On the next page, the writing began. "Okay." Craig sighed. "Just a few pages."


	3. I The Witch

_I must confess, in all of my time of witch hunting, I've never seen anything like this. I've never seen anyone like this man. Most witches confess their guilt and that is the end of it. This man, however, confessed his guilt in practicing witchcraft but that he never signed the devil's book. This man, named Brock, claimed that he was practising an old pagan form of witchcraft that was intended to do good. He said he was doing it for his wife who had fallen ill with the White Plague, or as it's called back in England, Consumption._

 _I refused to believe it at first. All witches are evil by nature, there is nothing good about them. That was what I was taught and that is what I teach to my apprentice, Jonathan. I can't deny that this shocked me. This was the first witch I've ever heard claim to only do it for good. In his home was all of the things associated with the witch; a spell book, what appeared to be an altar and straw dolls to name a few. He even had the mark of the devil on him. It is this that tells me that I did not sentence an innocent man to hang._

 _I do feel empathy for his wife. I know how it feels to lose someone to witchcraft; I blamed myself._

 _My good conscience still does not let me rest. Since the trial, since we left that village, I have tossed and turned at night, wondering if I have committed the sin of murder. If so, my soul will burn for eternity in the depths of hell. I must repent, I must be better. That is what I promised my Kelly..._

The ink pen wavered and dropped to the page of the journal. The small room was filled with the sound of a sad sigh. The chair creaked. The pen was picked back up.

 _I am writing this book, Venefica, because I feel that there is so much evil in this world and by writing down my experiences, I feel I am taking another stab at it, at shining a light into the shadows. I've seen it happen in England, times are moving forward and people are forgetting whats out there. They are forgetting about the ghosts that wander their halls and the devils that whisper in their ears._

 _I am calling this book 'Venefica' because it means 'One who poisons'. The devil is a venefica. This town is said to full of wicked creatures; just a day here and we've been given so many claims and accusations. It will be the perfect subject for this book. I will record the cases we take and their outcomes as well cases we have taken in the past and the evils we have already conquered._

The book was closed. The leather it was bound in was new and shown in the morning light coming through the small window. There was a glint of silver as a knife was pulled from a belt. A grunt of effort as the knife cut through the leather. When it was done, the knife was put back in its place.

The book is protected now.

The cross carved into the leather was small, but it would be enough. The chair was pushed back and boots thudded across the room to the jacket that was on the bed. The gold thread seemed to sparkle. The left lapel was lifted, revealing a golden cross. The coat rippled as it was pulled on, fitting comfortably onto the man's shoulders. He tucked the book into his inside pocket and headed for the door. He and his apprentice had been offered a room at the small inn, which at this hour was quiet. He made his way down the narrow staircase and through the small kitchen to the front door.

The warm autumn sunlight shown on Tyler's face. Over the forest that rose from the earth at the edge of the village, crows circles in the sky. Tyler wondered if there was something dead out there in the woods.

"Morning." Tyler said to the man in the dark blue velvet coat who leaned against the inn's wall, his hat tipped over his eyes; its feather twitched in the cold breeze. Jonathan started, his hat nearly falling from his head.

"M-Morning." Jonathan fixed his hat and stood up straight. "No nightmares last night?" He asked hopefully as he followed Tyler down the steps to the muddy road. He asked this every morning. Tyler didn't answer. The mud squelched under his boots as they walked. Already it was busy out with people heading to and fro. Some carried baskets of the last harvested vegetables while others were heading out to finish with getting the fields ready for the coming winter. Children ran through the mud only to be yelled at by a parent and they hurried back. Tyler's mind went to Brock and his family.

"None." Tyler finally answered Jonathan.

"Tyler, you can tell me. You don't have to be my teacher all the time." Jonathan said playfully. Tyler shook his head.

"I am your teacher all the time." Tyler pointed out. Jonathan sighed.

"I just worry about you sometimes. You've changed. Maybe we should go home. Leave tomorrow. You need to stop for a little bit." Jonathan stopped, grabbing Tyler's arm. Tyler turned to face him with a sigh.

"No. This town needs us, Jonathan." Tyler said though he knew they could just leave. Such cases as the ones they faced in this town were small, no one would be hurt because of it but Tyler wanted to write. He wanted to write it all down.

"Was it about Kelly?"

"Enough, Jonathan." Tyler snapped viciously and continued down the street. He was hungry. There was only a small tavern and everyday people yelled at the owner for being impure. There was a time when Tyler would have been among them, now he allowed this vice. They reached the door as a drunken man stumbled out.

"Go home, Nick!" Someone from inside yelled. Nick looked up at Tyler, seeming to vaguely recognize him from the day before.

"I haven't...I haven't seen him since last night…" Nick stammered grabbing at Tyler's gold lined lapel.

"Who haven't you seen?" Tyler asked.

"You're going to listen to a drunken fool?" Jonathan spat.

"Brian...I haven't seen Brian since last night." Nick hiccuped. Tyler had no idea who that was. They had just arrived the day before, made a small announcement about their intentions and checked into the inn. Word must have spread fast about them from other towns. It always did in these kinds of places.

"Maybe he's at home. Why don't you go see?" Tyler said gently. Nick nodded and turned, starting to stumble down the muddy road.

"Maybe the Grim knows...The Grim keeps us safe…" Nick mumbled.

"What was that?" Jonathan called after him.

"Nothing but a blasphemous pagan story." Tyler said. "God doesn't need a Grim to guide souls." With that, he pushed the door to the tavern open.

"That's right! He disappeared a year ago!I didn't see him for months!" Tyler tapped his pen against the table. He felt like screaming. The woman in front of him was almost hysterical with grief. "Then I see him working in a field not that long ago! When I tried to talk to him he said nothing! He didn't recognize me! It's like he was a corpse!"

"A corpse? How could he be moving then?" Tyler asked calmly.

"Someone brought Anthony back to life!"

"I see." Tyler wrote down the claim on the parchment. "Thank you, we'll see what we can do."

"Thank you...God bless you!" The woman staggered away, her skirts swishing around her. The tavern was filled with people, all with claims of seeing witches or the devil. Some of them just wanted to see the witch hunters, to feel safe in their presence. Tyler turned to Jonathan and sighed.

"We can leave, Tyler." Jonathan reminded him.

"I think there is something here. I'm just not sure where yet." Tyler said. "Once I find it and we deal with it, we'll go home. I won't say it again."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, leaning back in the creaky wooden chair. "Fine." Jonathan's gaze turned to the window. Tyler glanced at him, then followed his gaze. The white church tower seemed to reach for the heavens. It's exterior was painted white, making it stand out from the black buildings around it. Tyler could have sworn there was a shadow inside moving by one of the stained glass windows. Tyler shook his head, looking up at the man that now stood in front of their table. Jonathan's chair fell back to the floor as he got up, his boots heavy on the wood floor.

"Jonathan?" Tyler called after him. Light filled the tavern as the door opened. Tyler quickly apologized to the man and gathered up his things, hurrying after his apprentice. The gold thread on his coat glinted in the sunlight. "Jonathan! What are you doing?" With his free hand, he grabbed Jonathan's arm, yanking him back. Jonathan stared at him, confused.

"I'm going to the church."

"Why now? We are busy!" Tyler lifted the rolls of paper in his arms, tempted to throw them at Jonathan.

"I...I don't know." Jonathan looked back at the white building. Tyler found himself also starring at it. "It doesn't seem the same….as other churches."

"Maybe there's something impure in its ground." Tyler wondered. Jonathan started walking again. Tyler didn't stop him. The back of his neck prickled. He turned, seeing no one there. Rabbit skins hung out front of a house. Tyler's step quickened to keep up with Jonathan.

The white door creaked open. Light filled the empty church, pooling on pews that threatened splinters to anyone who sat on them. A cold breeze seemed to come out of the church, playing with the blue feather on Jonathan's hat. Tyler's right hand reached under his left lapel, tracing the cross that was embroidered there. The two men took a step into the church, letting the door closed behind them.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Tyler called out. There was no answer. They continued forward, towards the empty space at the front of the church. Tyler set his things down on one of the pews. There was no gold, no white cloths, nothing extravagant. Just a wooden cross. The floorboards under Tyler's feet suddenly creaked. He looked down. He stood in the middle of the church. He put more weight on his right foot. The floorboard creaked again. He took a step back and put more weight on his right foot. Not a sound. He stepped forward again and stomped on the floor. A hollow sound echoed through the church.

"Tyler." Jonathan's voice rang through the room. He looked up. Jonathan stood at the front of the church. He was pointing to something on the right wall.

"The hell is that?" Tyler made his way through the thin aisle in between pews, forgetting about the hollow space under the floorboards. He stopped when he was only a few feet away from the wall, gripping the edge of the pew tightly. Jonathan slowly made his way towards him, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and horror. "This is...This is…"

"Beautiful." Jonathan whispered. Tyler turned to strike him but stopped. He couldn't do that in a church. Instead, he turned back to the wall.

"It's wrong. It's pagan. A sure sign of witchcraft in this town." Tyler said through clenched teeth. "A sure sign of the devil." Jonathan's gaze did not move.

On the wall was a painting. It was of a young man, his dark eyes lowered to the bottom right corner of the golden frame. He looked sickly, his skin pale and tight around his cheekbones. His black hair was braided back and dotted with small red flowers. A black cloak with golden thread embroidered into it surrounded him; the ruffled collar looked like it was made of gold. In his left hand was a cross which he held to his chest. Tyler forced himself to lower his gaze from the man's face to the words emboldened on to the frame. "Church Grim…" Tyler whispered. "That's what Nick was talking about...Christ, do these people really believe such a tale?"

"We believe in God...Why not believe in the Grim too?" Jonathan asked. There was something defensive about his tone that Tyler hadn't heard before.

"This makes a God out of a man." Tyler gestured to the painting. "We should never expect to be decorated in gold like God. Not even God wants to be dressed in gold like this." Jonathan nodded but he wasn't looking at Tyler anymore. He was looking at the painting.

"You have to admit...There's something….alive….about this painting."

"Alive?" Tyler's brow furrowed. The young man looked like he was on the brink of death.

"Yes. Alive."

"Maybe the artist is just good at what they do." Tyler shrugged. "I suppose that I haven't seen anything like this before."

"How do you…" Jonathan whispered. Tyler turned to look at Jonathan, confused. Jonathan's head was turned, his gaze on the empty space behind him.

"Jonathan?"

"Sorry?" Jonathan turned back to Tyler.

"Who were you talking to?"

"No one. I just thought I heard someone say my name." Jonathan confessed. Tyler stared at him.

Someone started screaming outside. Tyler and Jonathan ran to the door, hurrying out into the bright daylight. The dark eyes of the painting lifted and watched them leave. A centipede crawled out from under the frame.

A group of people were gathering in the centre of the village. Several people were screaming now. The wind caught at Tyler's black and gold coat. The mud threatened to throw him down.

"Get back!" Tyler yelled once he reached the crowd, pushing past people to get to the centre. "Get back!" Someone was laughing hysterically. Tyler came to a sudden stop.

"Fools! You're all fools! Fucking fools!" A blonde man kneeled in the mud, his eyes wide. He was missing his coat and his white linen shirt was torn. He was missing a boot. He looked like he had been mauled. A bug crawled down his dirty, bloody face. His piercing gaze landed on Tyler. "Fool. You've been in the church...He knows...He knows!" He laughed wildly. His laughing turned into screams. "You call yourself a witch hunter…You're a fool. You cannot hunt the devil. The devil hunts you. He'll come knocking!"

"Brian!" Someone beside Tyler said. "Stop this!"

"Knock, knock, knock!" Brian screamed. "He's coming for you!" His eyes rolled back into his skull and he collapsed to the mud. Tyler couldn't move. People pushed past him to help Brian. Tyler managed to slowly turn to look back at Jonathan. His gaze was on the church.


	4. Chapter 2

A textbook fell off the desk.

Craig's eyes snapped open. He sat up so quickly his chair tipped back. His hands shot out, grabbing the desk to stop himself from falling. He took a breath, looking around. It was dark outside. Rain fell against the window.

"Shit." He grabbed his phone. It was midnight. There were five texts from Sami wondering where he was and why he stuck her up and three missed calls. "Oh fuck." Craig ran a hand through his hair and fell back into his chair. "Fuck." He called Sami. It went right to voicemail. "Sami...Hey, I'm so sorry. I fell asleep in my office. I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry. Please, call me back. I'm so sorry." He hung up and dropped his phone onto his desk. He yawned. He should get home. His dog would have to go out when he got home. He got up, grabbing his backpack. He gathered up the papers Simone wanted to be marked and his notebooks, stuffing them into the bag. His eyes landed on Venefica. It was still open. He should leave it here; it might get damaged at home.

Craig closed the book and put it into his backpack.

His eyes lowered to the box. "I've missed something."

Setting his bag down, he knelt down on the rough, carpeted floor and opened the box. He pulled out the rope and the velvet coat. He bit his lip. He reached for the coat, running his hand over the velvet. He found it's inside jacket pocket. He reached his fingers inside. A piece of paper scraped against his fingertips. He pulled it out. It was an ink sketch. Craig couldn't pull his eyes from it. It was of a man, his hair braided back. There flowers among the thick braid. He was surrounded by a heavy black cloak and ruffled collar. Craig imagined the real cloak was more than just black like the smeared ink on the paper.

Someone passed in front of his door.

Craig looked up. He heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Someone coughed. It sounded wet; bloody.

Who would be here at this time of night? He got to his feet and looked out into the dark hall. There was no one there. Shivers shook Craig's body. "God. I'm so tired." He put the paper back into the jacket pocket and folded the jacket, placing it back in the box with the rope. Putting the lid on the box, he picked it up. He managed to awkwardly turn the office light off with his elbow and close the door. He fought off a yawn as he made his way down the hall.

There were footsteps behind him. Craig stopped; the back of his neck prickling. He turned. "Very funny." Craig called out to the empty hallway. "Where did you go? It's late. If you got class tomorrow you shouldn't be pranking the assistant professors." There was no answer. Craig rolled his eyes and continued towards the stairs.

There were more footsteps. Craig stopped again. The footsteps stopped. "Stop it!" Craig said without turning around.

He should have turned around.

Gold thread glinted in the dim light, the shadow gliding along the wall.

Craig started walking again. He made his way down the stairs, his grip on the cardboard box tightening.

Once downstairs, he walked past empty classrooms; the orange streetlamps outside reflecting off black chairs and desks. Doors stood open, almost as if inviting Craig into the rooms.

All of the doors were open.

His brow furrowed. Some professors closed the doors when they left. It was odd that for once, all of them were open. He pushed the creeping fear away and kept walking. He was almost to the front lobby now.

It was stilling raining. Craig sighed. He had forgotten his umbrella in his office. He wasn't going back to get it. He reached the front doors, pushing them open. He stopped, standing in the open doorway. He turned. All of the doors were now closed. His heart seized. "Fuck this." With that, he turned and hurried across the parking lot to his car.

The windshield wipers pushed leaves and water across the glass. The dark road was winding; its corners illuminated by the red car's headlights. The car had been a gift from his parents for completing his master's degree; like he'd ever be able to afford something like this. The radio played quietly. Craig tapped his fingers against the wheel before tightening his grip to take another turn. The trees swayed in the wind. They looked like they were jostling to get into the spotlight created by the car's headlights.

As the road straightened out, Craig's eyes darted to the woods on either side of the road. They made him nervous at night. He wondered if Sami was right, if his studies were getting to his head. He never had nightmares, but sometimes, alone in his old, three-story farmhouse, he felt watched. The house had been in his family for generations. It was built in the early eighteen hundreds and passed down. Plenty of family members had passed away in its rooms. His parents let him move in when they moved down to Arizona to retire. His mom had always liked the heat. Craig didn't.

He turned off the old highway onto a small street which was narrower, the trees hanging over the road. The wind picked up, throwing leaves and rain against the windows. Craig's foot pressed down on the gas. The engine roared, speeding down the slick, wet road. This was Craig's favourite part of the commute. He had only a few neighbours on the road so it was always empty. His mom had said that he was going to kill himself one of these days doing this, lose control somehow and crash into the woods. Craig never entertained the idea.

He didn't slow down until he reached his driveway, the long road winding through the woods and a large field till it came to a stop at the house. He turned his high beams on to see the narrow road, hoping there wouldn't be a deer again staring at him. He had slammed on the brakes when it saw it. The deer stared for a few moments before slowly making its way into the field.

There was nothing tonight.

His headlights illuminated the large tree in front of the tall white painted house, it's rectangular windows watching the red car.

It was one thirty when he locked the car, making his way up the front steps and across the front porch. He pulled open the screen door and struggled to unlock the heavy front door with one hand. His dog barked excitedly from inside. He got the door open, smiling as the lab burst outside. Craig smiled, dropping his box and bag down in the front hallway. He grabbed his dog's ball and tossed it across the lawn. The lab took off after it. "Bring it back, Alex!" Craig called out. He shivered as the wind picked up. "Alex!" The rain started falling harder. Craig turned the porch light on. "Alex!" The dog suddenly burst out of the tall grass in the field and ran towards Craig. He shook off the rainwater onto Craig's pants. "Thanks." He laughed and ushered the dog inside, turning the light off closed the door.

Hanging his coat up, he tried calling Sami again. This time, it rang. He walked down the hall, turning the lights on. He walked past the living room, the old antique furniture draped with blankets looking warm and inviting. He walked into the kitchen, the wood floor creaking under his feet. The kitchen was newly renovated, his mother wasn't going to let him move in without renovating it. Though most of the design in the house was old-fashioned, the kitchen was all stainless steel and marble. He poured himself a glass of water, waiting for Sami to answer. It went to voicemail.

"Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!" Her cheerful voice said into his ear.

"Sami...I'm sorry! I know it's late. Please call me back in the morning. I'm so sorry. I just fell asleep in my office. I'm stupid, I'm sorry." He sighed. "Please call me back." He hung up, tossing his phone onto the counter. He yawned. He finished his water, placing the cup in the washing machine and gathered up his things from the hallway. He brought them upstairs to his home office, dumping the bag on the chair. He set the box on the desk. He'd deal with them in the morning. "Goodnight great grandma." He said to the empty office as he turned the light off. His dad always mentioned how his grandmother passed away in this room whenever he was there.

Down the hall was the staircase leading to the top floor where there was a small room, mostly for storage but sometimes Craig used it as a study room. There was a couch from his old dorm room, cheap dollar store lamps hung on the walls and plants in the window and on top of boxes. He walked past the stairs to his bedroom. He never knew what to do with all the space. He let Alex in and closed the door, changing into pyjamas.

He left the room to wash his face and brush his teeth before bed. There was a black smudge on the mirror. Craig rubbed it with his thumb. After a moment, he realized it was a reflection. He turned. There was a black mark on the wall. "The fuck…" It hadn't been there that morning. Wetting a cloth, he rubbed at the mark. It got bigger. With a sigh, he tossed the cloth down and left the bathroom, turning the light off. He'd clean it in the morning.

As he reached his bedroom door, the stairs leading to the ground floor creaked. Craig stopped. They never creaked unless he was walking on them. He stared at the stairs. "Go to bed." Craig said to himself a few minutes later. "Just go to bed." With that, he closed the bedroom door and climbed into bed, the lab curling up at his feet. He checked his emails and twitter before plugging his phone into the charger and turned the light off.

The wind whistled through a draft in the tall window.

The tree branches rattled against the wall and scraped against the windows.

Alex let out a sigh.

Craig rolled over, his back to the empty room.

The stairs creaked.

The box in the office faced the window.

For just a moment, a body hung by a bloody noose from the tree in front of the tall white house.

"Hey Sami...Sorry if you're still asleep. I feel so awful. Please let me make it up to you. I totally understand that you're upset. Call me back...I'll see you tomorrow?" Craig hung up as his coffee maker beeped. He tucked his phone into his university sweater pocket and reached for a mug, pouring cream and some sugar into the cup. Coffee swirled through the cream, the dark amber liquid consuming the cream.

Alex watched excitedly while he made breakfast, his fluffy tail wagging. He stared up at Craig with large, dark eyes. His tail stopped waging. He watched him as he set the plate that was filled with eggs, bacon and toast on the small kitchen table beside his coffee mug. He watched Craig as he got Alex's breakfast together and set the bowl on the floor. For just a moment, the dog continued to stare at Craig before his tail started wagging again and he began to eat.

Craig smiled and sat down at the table. An email from a student popped up on his phone. He felt kinda bad sometimes for younger students. He had been there, he remembered the stress and anxiety. Not that it wasn't gone, it just wasn't as bad now that he could see the end of the line. He read through the email, they were asking about primary sources. He sent them a couple of quick links to archives that might help. He wished them well on their paper, letting them know they could always email back if something else came up or they needed clarification. He sent the email.

As he took a sip of his coffee, his mind wandered to the box of objects in his office and the book that was in his bag. Picking up his phone again as he bit into a piece of bacon, he typed the name of the book into google. Nothing much came up at first, just the Latin definition of the word and other synonyms. Then there was a blog post. It looked unreliable, some obscure Blogspot website. He clicked it anyways. "Beware of this book!" Craig laughed at the title. "This is the Devil's book!" He rolled his eyes but kept reading. The blog went on to explain some of what is written in the book before going into detail of weird experiences they had after finding the book. They had been dragged out of bed, had seen a man in a black and gold jacket staring at them in the middle of the night and shadow figures moving throughout the house. They even wrote that a table had been flung across the room and heard screaming for hours once.

There was a comment at the bottom. It was from someone anonymous who wrote that they had the book for just one day and woke up to their child screaming because they were coughing up bloody owl feathers. They returned the book to the museum and decided to study something else.

Craig blinked. "What the fuck?" He mumbled, scrolling back up as he took a sip of his coffee. Nothing like that had happened to him. This was ridiculous.

After cleaning up from breakfast, Craig headed upstairs to his office. It was filled with old textbooks and binders full of past essays and homework. He took out the papers he was marking and then Venefica. He stared at the book. He wanted to read more. Looking outside, it was bright and sunny. The leaves of the tree outside were a bright orangish yellow colour, glowing in the sunlight. Taking the old book with him, he headed downstairs, grabbing a blanket off a couch in the living room. He headed to the back porch, sitting down in one of the red-painted Muskoka chairs in front of the dining room window. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, watching Alex run across the lawn.

At the edge of the property was the woods.

Craig opened the book to where he had left off, his eyes glancing over the neat handwriting.

Something moving caught his attention.

"Alex! Leave the squirrels alone!" Craig called out. Alex was nosing through the dead garden by the house. The movement had come from the woods. Craig turned his gaze.

A man stood among the trees. He was staring at Craig and the tall white house. Craig's brow furrowed. Thinking he was a neighbour who had gone for a morning walk, he raised his hand, waving to the man. He didn't wave back. "Weird." Craig muttered, pulling the blanket closer as he shivered in the warm sunlight. He looked back at Alex, wondering why he hadn't barked. He looked back at where the man was.

He was gone.

Craig shivered again. "Cool...Alright." Craig said to himself. "Cool." He turned his attention back to the book. The blog post and its warning came back to him. He rolled his eyes at the crazy claims and forced himself to read.

Someone was standing in the window behind Craig. Their dark eyes were bloodshot and sunken. Their skeletal hands were on the window. Blood dripped from their wide, open mouth; a mouth open in a silent scream.


	5. II The Church Grim

_I suppose that this 'creature' has its own holiness, its an amateur angel in a way, but there's just something different about it here in this town. I've heard of the story of the Church Grim in Europe. It's sad and cruel. It's about sacrifice._

 _When a soul dies, they are guided to heaven by angels or sometimes, a Church Grim. The Church Grim was once a human, they lived a normal life like you and I. They only make the sacrifice of becoming the Grim because they were the first to die when a church is built, the first to die in a newly settled village. For eternity, they are said to protect the church from all evil forces and guide lost souls to Heaven. Supposedly, they willingly spend eternity in Purgatory to help other souls; they give up going to Heaven._

 _There is a Church Grim in this town. People believe in him, they cherish his sacrifice and trust him with their souls. However, I think there may be something malevolent in that church. There is something wrong. I am determined to find out what. Holy ground must never be contaminated with the filth of evil…_

"Jonathan." The pen stopped, splotching on the page. "Will you stop?" An axe split through a thick piece of wood, the halves falling to the muddy earth. "The innkeeper said they would bring us wood." Tyler's startling blue eyes narrowed at his apprentice as he pulled the axe from the stump the wood had been placed on.

"I haven't done work like this in a while; not since I joined you." Jonathan wiped his sweaty forehead with his linin sleeve. His velvet coat hung carelessly over the woodpile, his white linen shirt open. His hat with its blue feather rested on top of the coat.

The mark on Jonathan's collarbone was visible.

It was dark and too close to being something evil.

Tyler hated it for the anxiety it gave him.

A cold wind picked up, making Tyler shiver. He sat on the back step of the inn, splinters digging into his legs. He turned his gaze to the dark woods behind Jonathan. It rose out of the earth, the trees bare and skeletal.

"Fix your shirt." Tyler said, pressing his thumb against the splotched ink in an attempt to fix it.

"Why?" Jonathan looked down, pulling his shirt back up and tightened the strings.

"You know why. We've seen too many marks like that before. You're lucky we can differentiate between a mark like that and the devil's mark." Tyler snapped, keeping his voice down. He glanced around the quiet yard. A maid was hanging up blankets to dry.

"I was born with this...My mother said so."

"Someone here might not know that." Tyler's grip tightened on his pen. "Put your damn coat on." Jonathan muttered something under his breath as he put his hat on and pulled the blue coat off the woodpile, brushing pieces of wood off.

"Do you know how Brian is doing? I'm not an expert...but I would say that he's possessed." Jonathan sat down beside Tyler who felt him shiver in the cold.

"Explain. You don't know him. What has lead you to that conclusion?"

"First, his eyes. How they rolled all the way back into his skull. Human eyes shouldn't be able to roll like that. Second, the bugs. Some demonic cases are more unique than others as we've seen. Sometimes the person has no control over their body or there are bugs constantly present. Third, he had knowledge about us that he couldn't possibly know. I doubt anyone knew we were in the church yesterday. He spoke of a 'he' as well. Maybe he meant the demon possessing him." Jonathan explained. Tyler nodded.

"If so, this will be your first possession case. Are you afraid?" Tyler closed the book, tracing his fingers over the cross he carved into the leather.

"Of course I am."

"You can't. You can't say you're scared, you can't show it. If you show your fear, the devil will get to you. You can't be scared." Tyler warned. Jonathan took a breath, nodding. Movement caught Tyler's eye. He turned his head, looking back at the woodpile.

There was a grey rabbit in the yard. It stared at the two men with its dark, beady eyes. Its ears twitched. The men stared back at the rabbit. The rabbit was curious. The blonde man stood slowly, his eyes locked on the rabbit.

The rabbit continued to stare. The blonde man suddenly lunged forward, grabbing at the axe, yanking it from the stump. The rabbit watched as he pulled it from the stump and swung to bring the sharp blade down it. The grey rabbit ran.

The blade came down on mud.

"Why did you do that?" Jonathan cried. Tyler looked around for the rabbit but could not find it.

"It was watching."

The ground felt cold and muddy. Mud oozed between the gaps of Tyler's fingers. He had been laying here for a while. There was a pain in his chest, a burning pain. Just out of focus, something was burning. The smell of smoke filled his lungs. He would lay here for a long time.

Something crawled over his hand. Tyler's eyes drifted to his hand. Centipedes crawled over his hand and up his sleeve. Finally able to move, Tyler screamed, rolling away and flailed his arms in an attempt to get the bugs off. He rolled into maggots. He screamed louder and tried to get up only to feel a force holding him down.

"Liar!"

"Liar!"

"Liar!"

"Liar!" Voices screamed at him. Some were angry, some were in pain. Tyler kept screaming. Screaming for anyone to save him. Screaming for death.

With a gasp, Tyler's eyes opened as he sat up, looking around the room. He sat in bed, moonlight coming in through the window. Sweat dripped down his face and back. His hands shook as they curled around the thick blanket. He wasn't used to these nightmares; he would never be.

With a sigh, he laid back down. He rolled over. His eyes widened. The door was open. Sitting back up, Tyler swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He peeked into the dark hallway. There was no one out there. Slowly, Tyler closed the door again. He laid back down, pulling the thick wool blanket over his head. He never used to have difficulty sleeping. He'd never admit it to Jonathan or even to himself, but he was terrified of what was in the dark.

The door slowly opened.

Moonlight spilt onto the floor.

Someone was snoring down the hall.

Something stood in the corner of the room, its skeletal hands reaching for the sleeping man.

"It's their fault! Brian went missing the day they arrived!"

"They are devils! Look at the colours they wear! No God-fearing gentleman would wear such things! They have no shame! They are full of ego!"

"They have brought the devil into our town!"

"Enough!"

"You're blind if you can't see it! The devil takes many forms!"

"Liars!"

Jonathan's hand curled around Tyler's wrist. Tyler's knuckles were white, his hands gripping the top of the pew in front of him. Almost all of the town was packed into the church, all concerned for Brian and the devils he brought back from the woods. Tyler lowered his gaze to the wood floor. He had been yelled at like this before.

"Don't listen to them. It's not true." Jonathan whispered.

"I know…" Tyler sighed. "It's just…"

"Kelly." Jonathan finished Tyler's sentence. Tyler stared at him. He wondered how much his apprentice knew. "Did you have a nightmare last night?"

"Sir Tyler, do you have anything to say to these accusations?" The pastor called out. Tyler glanced around, the church falling silent. Slowly he stood.

For a moment, he wasn't in this church, but the one at home. He had stood at the front of the altar, looking back at all the eyes that stared at him. His hands shook.

"You know who we are. We are here to rid your town of any witches. This is a cause I have devoted my life to. Never, ever would I lose sight of that. We are here to help. Accusing us of the very thing we are here to fight is absurd!" Tyler's voice rang through the church. His grip tightened on the pew. "I will find your witch."

"You had better find them soon! Brian is dying! Whatever has a hold on him is relentless!"

"What about the ghosts in the lighthouse? They are lost! They need help!" Someone with a thick accent yelled.

"No one cares when we have demons and witches in our town!"

"I'm afraid that we don't have much experience with ghosts…" Tyler said quietly. He wasn't going to entertain such an idea.

"But you have experience with the devil." Tyler turned to look back at the pastor. He was bearded with a faint scar tracing its way down his face.

"Yes. I've burned vampyres. I've hung witches. I've driven out demons." Tyler's tone was harsher than he meant it to be. He wasn't sure where this aggression was coming from.

"I fear that our town needs that kind of expertise. In preparation for the trail of the witch, I have sent word to a magistrate who will come to oversee the trail and act as judge." The pastor said, turning his attention back to the people. "If you are the witch...You know that turning yourself in is the only route to mercy you have."

Tyler turned his gaze down to Jonathan. His head was down, his hat in his lap. His eyes were turned sharply to look at the painting. Tyler followed his gaze. For a moment, he was certain the young man with roses in his hair, shrouded in gold, stared back at him.

They could hear the screaming from the muddy road. A cold wind found its way down Tyler's collar. He shivered, his grip tightening on the leather bag in his hand. The air smelled of burning wood. It made Tyler feel nauseous.

"Are you sure about this?"

"If we leave now we'll be accused of enchanting Brian. I'd accuse anyone that leaves town right now." Tyler sighed. "We must help him. We have to find the witch." Taking a breath, he started for the small house. Like all the others, it was nearly black. The wood creaked under Tyler's boots. Brian's screaming stopped. The door opened before Tyler could open it. A woman stood in the doorway, her face sunken and tired. Her skirts looked heavy, the hem caked with dry mud. "Did he know we were at the door?" The woman nodded.

"Please, help him." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"We will." Jonathan reassured her. Tyler had said nothing, moving past her towards the small bedroom that was separated from the rest of the room with a heavy curtain. Tyler pushed it aside. Brain lay asleep on the bed. His skin was shiny with sweat, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead. Tyler glanced around the small space. There was nothing that Brian could use to hurt himself. The pastor must have had everything removed.

"He was just screaming." Jonathan whispered. Tyler nodded. He passed the bag to Jonathan. "Take the cross. I want to see what he will do. It's possible that he is just enchanted, under the control of an entity, not possessed." Jonathan opened the bag, finding the crucifix and handed it to Tyler who placed it on the bed at Brian's feet.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"I don't know what it is…" Tyler's gaze swept the room. He inhaled. He was reminded of sitting with his father, watching him skin rabbits for their fur and meat. It smelled of dirty fur. "What is that?" Jonathan whispered.

Brian started laughing. His eyes remained closed as his body seemed to pull itself up by his chest to a sitting position. "Don't like the smell of meat do you, boy?" His mouth opened but the sound seemed to be coming from his throat. Jonathan took a nervous step back, moving closer to Tyler who picked up the crucifix, holding it in front of him as though it were a sword.

"Do you fear this?"

"No. I have no fear of the Holy Ghost…" A new voice came from Brian's throat. "Some of them do but I have no such fear...You fear the Holy Ghost...You fear God with a passion...Fear for your act of cowering in the mud-"

"Shut up." Tyler snarled.

"While she burned!" Brian laughed wildly. Tyler suddenly jumped onto the bed, pressing the crucifix against Brian's head. Brian screamed inhumanly.

"Tyler!"

"Don't hurt him!"

"Whatever you are... You will cast you out. You will tell me the name of the witch in this town!" Tyler yelled. Brian laughed again.

"Witch? What witch? Which witch?" The voices in his throat cackled.

Without warning, Brian coughed violently.

Tyler leaned back, a disgusted look making its way onto his face. Brian heaved and coughed again.

Something splattered onto Tyler's face.

Something crawled down his cheek.

Tyler couldn't breathe.

Slowly, he raised his hand to his cheek. He pulled something off his face.

The centipede between his fingers wiggled violently.

"Oh god…" Jonathan sounded like he was going to faint. Tyler looked down at Brian with wide eyes. A greenish liquid dripped from his smiling lips.

"Oh! My lungs!" Brian suddenly screamed in pain, falling back to the bed. Fear overwhelmed Tyler, his chest tightening painfully. Tyler let Brian fall, scrambling backwards to get away from him. Tyler fell to the floor, the insect escaping his grasp. Brian kept coughing violently. The woman screamed. Tyler managed to stand, bracing himself against the wall. Brian's hands were at his mouth. As he coughed, he reached his fingers into his mouth, trying to pull something from his throat. He pulled his hands away as he rolled towards the side of the bed, retching onto the floor.

Among the blood were owl feathers.

The bag dropped from Jonathan's hands, rosaries, bottles of holy water and sticks of sage rolling across the floor.

Brian let out a wail of agony as he coughed violently again. He choked on more feathers.

Jonathan collapsed to the wood floor, his blue velvet coat spilling like ink around him.

The smell of sage burned Tyler's sinuses. The lantern held tight in the pastor's hand swung around him. Smoke clung to the black velvet.

"God gives you his protection from all evil forces. May he grant you the strength to defeat this entity." Tyler bit his lip to hold back a comment on his inability. "May the Lord be with you." The lantern swung around him again. "You're scared." The pastor's voice echoed through the empty church. Tyler said nothing. A floorboard creaked.

"Yes."

"Fear is human. Being pastor in a place like this...I've seen my fair share of demons. People go into the woods and they come back different." Tyler looked up at him as he set the lantern down on the altar, smoke from the sage inside it still billowing through the cracks in the metal. "I'm sure you've seen quite a few yourself."

"Do you want a story?" Tyler laughed.

"You're writing one, aren't you?" The pastor gestured to Tyler's belongings on the front pew. His book lay on top of the bag.

"That's not a story." His voice was harsher than he meant it to be. "I'm recording everything that happens to me."

"Someone might see it as a story one day. Hearing of all those ideas coming out of Europe, it won't be long before everything is stories. It makes you wonder though." The pastor smiled. "What's scarier? Being able to identify something as real or not being able to at all because everyone keeps calling it a story?" The floorboard creaked again.

"Aren't both just as scary?" Tyler asked as he rose to his feet.

"I can't answer you there...We should leave the question for another time. The Grim is getting restless with us still in here. He needs his sleep as much as we do." The pastor said.

"You, a man of God, believe in the Grim? Doesn't that go against what you preach?" Tyler crossed his arms.

"I suppose. However, after spending so much time in this church with that painting on the wall…" Tyler followed his gaze to the painting of the young man cloaked in gold. "I cannot deny that there is someone else in here. He does good though. He made the ultimate sacrifice, he gave up heaven to help us find our way in the dark after death. How can that be evil?" Tyler said nothing. How could it be evil?

"Thank you for the blessing. I should go check on Jonathan." Tyler said, looking back at the pastor. "Send a message to the Church. You need a proper exorcist for Brian." His gaze turned back to the painting. A jolt of fear shot through him. The young man was staring right at him. He was sure of it this time. The floorboard right behind him creaked. Cold air slithered down his neck.

"Liar…" Someone whispered in Tyler's ear. "Burning...Liar…"

"Are you alright?" Tyler blinked. He looked back at the pastor, struggling to catch his breath. His wide-eyed gaze turned back to the painting. The man's eyes were how they normally were, lowered to the floor.

"Yes...I'm fine." Tyler gathered up his things and headed for the door as fast as he could. He pushed the doors open, practically running down the steps to get out. He took a deep breath of fresh air. The cold air filled his lungs. "Don't call me a liar." He whispered to the empty air. He wasn't a liar; he hadn't killed innocent people, hadn't lied about who they were and what they had done.

Tyler's head turned to the woods that stood on guard beyond the church. Someone was walking into the shadows, heading deep into the woods. Tyler set his things down on the church step and hurried after them. Entering the woods, his boots stuck to the mud. He kept close to trees, watching the figure move deeper and deeper into the woods. They wore all grey, their coat still in the wind that rustled the trees and pulled at Tyler's coat, nipping at his cheeks and nose.

The figure stopped, turning to look back.

Tyler ducked behind a tree, listening. The wind rattled the bare branches of the trees, the cold air threatening to bring snow.

Tyler turned to look around the tree. The woods were dark. Through the branches, the sky was grey, thick with clouds. Dead leaves covered the forest floor. There was a bag of split gunpowder on the muddy ground. The figure was gone. Tyler leaned back against the tree, his mind racing. The bark was rough against the palms of his hands as he pressed them against the tree. Something moved in front of him. His gaze focused.

A grey rabbit stared at him. It was watching him. Tyler couldn't move, he couldn't think. The rabbit moved closer. Tyler suddenly staggered away from the tree, sprinting away from the rabbit. Branches clawed at his face and coat, trying to hold him back as he ran. Mud splattered onto his trousers. He looked back over his shoulder, seeing nothing in the woods. He started to slow, gasping for air.

Someone shrouded in gold feathers grabbed Tyler, their deathly pale, icy cold fingers curling around his arm. Their grip felt like it was going to break Tyler's arm.

Tyler couldn't even scream.


	6. Chapter 3

Craig's fingers drummed against his desk. He stared at his phone. It was almost noon. Sami hadn't called him yet, hadn't even texted him. He felt awful. He had barely been able to focus on reading more of Venefica. He thought the author was a bit pretentious, the majority of authors like this were. They pretended to always know what they were talking about.

With a sigh, he leaned back against his chair, spinning around to look at his office. He really should clean it sometime. Books were stacked haphazardly and out of order on the shelves, folders and binders containing old essays and assignments lay about the room. The shelves were the original shelves, the wood dark and ancient. He turned back to the tall window. It was starting to snow. He watched the large flakes fall from the heavy grey sky, settling neatly on the tall house and the world around it. At his feet was the warm golden lab who would occasionally sigh in his sleep. Pushing his phone away with a sigh, he reached for the essay proposals that he still had to finish marking. The list of things he had to get done that day glared at him from his planner. He couldn't help the pained sigh that escaped his throat.

"Okay…Just get this done then have a break." Craig told himself, running a hand through his hair. He turned his gaze back to the window. Frost created delicate swirls of ice on the corners of the glass. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell from the grey sky. The stairs creaked. Craig turned in his chair, his eyes on the open door behind him.

"Never have your back to a door," His mother had said when decorating.

"Why?"

"It's easy for someone to sneak up on you." She had laughed a few moments after she said that. Craig didn't find the joke that funny.

Craig turned away from the door, reaching for the candle he kept on his desk. He pulled a box of matches from his drawer and lit it, the small flame swaying gently as if it were at a dance, arms around a lover. He lit the candle and blew the match out, tossing it into the wastebasket under the desk; it was full of crumpled paper. He pulled the cap off his pen and got to work, ignoring the creaking floor in the hallway.

Alex got up. The golden lab walked out of the office, his claws clicking on the dark, old wood floor. He looked around the hall. Every door was open. In the bathroom, the mark on the wall seemed smaller today. The stairs creaked again. Alex turned his head, his eyes on something at the bottom of the stairs.

Frozen trees creaked in the wind. Craig imagined that they sounded like ships on a cold ocean, the boards moaning under the pressure of the water and the wind. There was a magic about the past, it was what had drawn him to devote his life to studying it. Perhaps it was because they didn't have an explanation for everything that allowed for everyday magic; for curiosity about what was in the woods, about what was across the ocean, about what was just out of the corner of your eye.

Alex barked at a squirrel, bringing Craig back to the present. Snow crunched under his boots. He lowered his face into his scarf as the wind picked up. "Alex, don't go far!" He called out as the lab ran ahead. He followed his paw prints. Branches creaked overhead. A few dead leaves rattled and fell to the fresh snow. Craig wished that he hadn't forgotten his gloves as he blew warm air into his cupped hands, rubbing them together as he followed his dog through the woods. The world was quiet, muffled by the falling snow.

Tyler had written about snow in Venefica. Craig wasn't sure why he couldn't stop reading it. So far, it seemed like every other book written by a witch hunter. The story about the Grim seemed odd for sure but it wasn't the strangest thing that Craig had encountered in his studies. Stories of exorcisms from the recent centuries unnerved him more than a body buried under a church. He remembered going to church in the UK with his mom and seeing graves in the stone floor. He felt bad when he had to walk over them. He would whisper apologizes to the bodies as if they could hear him.

"They can't hear you," his father said once when he heard Craig apologize.

"How do you know?" His little seven-year-old self had wondered.

"They are... sleeping." His father had tiptoed around the word 'dead'.

"Oh…Under the stone? That isn't comfortable." Craig remembered looking down at the nearest grave from where he sat on the hard wooden pew. People dressed in their Sunday best were walking over it, polished dress shoes and heels clicking on the stone. His father had smiled. He remembered the way warm summer light had shone through the stained glass windows, casting bright colours across the pews and the people sitting there, flipping through that day's pamphlet, reading over the hymns for mass.

"They don't mind it. So long as you don't bother them, they'll sleep just fine." Craig had nodded with wide eyes. He promised never to bother the people that slept under the stone floor of the church.

"Alex!" Craig called out into the woods. His toes were freezing. "Come on! We're going inside!" His stomach growled. He could see his tall house through the trees. He turned, heading towards it. There were animal tracks tracing their way through the snow. They looked like rabbit tracks.

He heard Alex barking at something, his loud calls echoing off the frozen trees. "Alex?" Craig found himself hurrying that direction, his thoughts of lunch and a cup of warm tea forgotten. "Alex!" Snow clung to his pants. Sweat dripped down his cold neck. He struggled to move quickly under his heavy winter coat. His fingertips stung. He heaved for air, his scarf feeling tight around his neck. Where was this fear coming from?

Craig burst into a clearing, not noticing the trail of rabbit tracks that lead his path. His dog stood a few feet away, his fur along his back raised in anger. There was a grey rabbit at the edge of the clearing, its nose twitching. "Alex...Come on!" Craig whistled for his dog. The rabbit stared at the panting man. His breath escaped his lips in clouds of vapour. The rabbit's black eyes were locked on the man who stared back at him, the lenses of his glasses fogging with every heaving breath he took. "Alex!" The man cried. The rabbit continued to stare.

The rabbit watched the man as he slowly reached for a fallen branch on the snow. The rabbit watched as the man suddenly lunged towards him, bringing the branch down on the snow just as an axe had once slammed into the mud in front of the rabbit. The rabbit's nose twitched. It turned and ran into the woods.

Craig watched it go. Wet snow trickled down the back of his neck. A shiver violently shook his body. He cast his eyes around the forest. He could feel eyes on his back. He lowered his gaze to the white ground, slowly turning to look behind him. He knew someone was there.

No one was there.

"I'm so tired…" Craig muttered. He whistled for his dog and headed for home.

"Craig?"

"Hey…"

"I got your messages…"

"Oh...Yeah. About that...I didn't want to stress you out or anything. I just feel so bad. That was such a shitty thing to do, I'm so sorry! I don't know what's with me, one minute I had an hour before I had to go and then it was midnight! Let me make it up to you, Sami! I'm sorry-"

"Craig, it's fine! I get it. It's that time of the semester. I was just frustrated is all. I waited almost two hours for you."

"Right...fuck. I would be pissed too."

"I'm glad you didn't mean to stand me up." She giggled. Craig smiled, a feeling of relief coming over him. "I accept your apology." The staircase creaked. Craig turned in his chair. His office door was open just a crack, the hall light spilling into the dim office.

"When can I make it up to you?" He turned to look back at the window. He could see the thin reflection of the hall light on the glass.

"You're in tomorrow, right? Why not after your class, we go out?"

"That sounds great!" Craig wrote down the date on his planner, his pen scratching on the paper.

The reflection of light on the window got wider.

"What are you up to today?" Sami asked. Craig raised his eyes to the window. He watched the reflection of light get wider. He slowly turned in his seat. "Craig?" The door was wide open. "Craig?" The phone started to slip from his fingers. "Are you there?" Craig caught the phone, swallowing the fear building up in his stomach. It must have just been Alex. The lab was nowhere to be seen in the office.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Not much, just marking. What about you?"

"Are you sure you're fine? You sound...uneasy." She sounded concerned.

"I think my thesis subject might be getting to my head." He put the lid on the cardboard box containing the disturbing objects. He didn't want to look at that noose anymore.

"What do you mean?"

"Just...I….I don't know. I feel weird."

"Weird?"

"Like someone is watching me everywhere I go. That sounds so weird, I know. My skin has just been crawling since last night."

"Do you think you brought home a ghost with the stuff your professor gave you?" She sounded serious. It caught Craig off guard. He laughed.

"I don't know...maybe. The book that was in the box has been kinda scary…This guy...Tyler, I think, either he was out of his mind or really did experienced some scary shit." Craig laughed, reaching for Venefica. He opened to the page he had last been on, his fingers tracing over the old ink.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Exorcisms, ghosts, this thing called a 'Church Grim'; just to name a few. I don't know, the more I read, the less it's off things he's experienced and more of what he's experiencing, it's more of a journal than a book. Some places, the writing becomes so hard to read. It's almost like he was frantic." Craig flipped through the pages. "Like this part…" He flipped through the pages till he found it. "He recalls getting lost in the forest and this thing rushed at him and then he remembers waking up on the forest floor and-"

"Sounds scary."

"Right?"

"I mean, if anything is gonna come with a ghost, it'd be a journal."

"Not the noose or the jacket with a cross embroidered on to it?" Craig laughed. She did too.

"God, Craig! And all of that is in your old house? No wonder you're feeling weird! You should get out of the house. Do some errands or something, walk the dog. Get your mind off it. Do you want me to come over?"

"No...It's fine. I know you're busy."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, babe."

"Well...Text me later, so I know you're alive."

"I will." Craig smiled. It felt like a massive weight had been taken off his chest. After saying goodbye and hanging up, he got up from his desk, walking out into the hall and down the stairs to his kitchen. Sami was right, he should get out of the house. He made a grocery list on his phone before pulling on his boots and jacket, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck.

He stopped at the door. He turned to look down the hallway.

Craig suddenly started towards the stairs, nearly jumping up two at a time. He kept going, all the way up to the third floor. He found a box labelled 'camera equipment' by the window. Pulling it open, he found the folded up tripod and the camera. He set up the camera downstairs by his office to film the stairs. If he caught nothing on film than he knew he was just imagining all of this. He didn't want to think about what capturing something on film meant. Turning off the office light, he made his way back down the stairs.

The white floor of the grocery store glowed in the harsh white light. Craig stared at the vegetables that were a bit too waxy. He bit the inside of his cheek. He looked up and down the aisle. No one was looking at him. Craig took a breath and grabbed a box of spinach, tossing it into his basket and continued on. He walked up and down the fluorescent aisles, the faint sound of music playing over the speaker.

"Its places like these where the veil is thinnest," A high school friend had said once. Craig remembered following him to the chip aisle, the neon packages seeming dull in the white light. He couldn't remember that friend's name anymore but he remembered that day. He remembered the kid's eyes.

"What do you mean?" Craig had asked, tossing a bag of chips into their basket.

"There's just...a distance in places like this. They are neither here nor there. They just exist. It's a good place for ghosts who don't know where else to go." He laughed. "I don't know, my mom likes this stuff."

"No, it's cool." Craig had said. Since then, he imagined great, demon-like beasts wandering up and down the neon aisles, their horns just barely missing the hanging signs and ghosts in Victorian dress gossiping by the produce, the ladies picking their skirts up to step over a spill on the floor.

Turning into the snack aisle, the basket bumping against his leg, Craig's eyes cast over the shelves before darting to the list on his phone. He raised his head as someone stepped around the corner ahead of him. Craig stopped, deciding on a snack for the ride home.

The whole drive home, Craig's eyes kept drifting to the rearview mirror, scanning the backseat as if someone was there, their eyes burning into the back of his skull. Gravel crunched under the tyres of the red car as it drove up the driveway to the tall house. Snowflakes gently fell from the grey sky. It was getting dark. Getting out of the car, Craig stared at the house. His office light was on, the lamplight shining through the glass. He wondered if he had forgotten to turn it off. He got his groceries from the trunk, the white plastic bags straining to stay together. He closed his trunk, the car lights flashing as he locked the car on his way up the porch. Unlocking the door and stepping inside, he was greeted with a blast of cold air, colder than it was outside. Craig shivered violently. He heard footsteps upstairs. His dog had jumped up from the sofa and was running over him, his tail wagging. Slowly, Craig closed the front door behind him. He set the bags down on the kitchen counter, listening for the footsteps.

"Stay," Craig said to Alex. Slowly making his way to the stairs, turning the lights on as he went, he listened intently. The stairs creaked under Craig's feet. He saw the light from the office spilling onto the floor, the camera watching everything. On the landing, he glanced into his bedroom. Nothing was out of place. Moving past the camera, he looked into the office.

The box full of artifacts had been tipped over.

The rope was sprawled on the floor, having fallen out of the box when it tipped. The black and gold velvet coat was hanging neatly on the chair, Venefica open to a page somewhere in the middle of the book. Craig starred. He hadn't done that. "Is...Is that your jacket?" Craig whispered to the empty room. "Are you the writer of that book, Venefica? Are you Tyler?" There was no answer. Taking a deep breath, Craig made his way across the room to his desk. His breath caught in his chest. There were pages missing from the book that he hadn't noticed before. He turned to the start of that section, seeing the title 'The Ghost and the Ghoul'. "Are you this ghost? Are you…." He couldn't make out the names in the ink. It looked like something starting with an 'S'. The room remained silent but Craig couldn't shake the heavy feeling that seemed to weigh him down. He sighed. "This is ridiculous." With that, he closed the book and went to go put his groceries away, leaving the velvet jacket on his chair.

After dinner and letting Alex out for his nighttime walk, Craig played the tape back on his camera. He sped through most of it, not seeing anything. He stopped it when he saw the office light go on. He heard the box fall over. He wished he could see it. Then he heard someone cough. It was a wet sound, bloody and full of flem. No one coughed like that unless they were really sick.

There was a voice after the cough. Craig stopped the tape and played it back, trying to make out the words.

"Careful...He made me sick..."


	7. III The Vampyre

Snow fell through the branches of the frozen trees, landing on the cold earth. The world slowly become muffled by the snow. Rabbit tracks dotted the snow. The grey sky began to darken. Among the dead branches of a tree, an owl ruffled their feathers, shaking the snow off. A feather fell from its wing, floating through the branches to the snow below where a man lay, half-buried by snow. His fingertips and lips were blue. The owl turned its head, it's large orange eyes watching the dark forest. It suddenly took off, it's great wings cutting through the cold air.

Tyler's eyes snapped open. He gasped in pain and shock, slowly rolling onto his back, the snow falling off him. He stared up at the darkening sky, heaving for air. His lungs hurt. He couldn't remember what happened to get him here. Snow soaked through his coat. He took a breath, slowly managing to get to his feet. His teeth chattered violently. His whole body shook from the cold. A wave nausea rolled over him as he struggled to walk. He stopped, leaning against a tree to catch his breath.

Air caught in his throat.

He began to cough.

Every heave hurt his lungs. It felt like they were being scraped. When his coughing finally slowed, he began walking again. He had no idea where he was. He staggered through the snow. His coughs scraped at his lungs. He spat phlegm onto the snow. It tasted like bile. Staring around the woods, heaving for air, it felt like he was drowning. The air was cold and thick around him, full of falling snow. His heaving breath came out of his mouth in thick, wet clouds of condensation.

Tree branches bent like arms, their sharp points coming towards him like blades. Tyler let out a scream of terror, waving his arms out in an attempt to stop the branches from hitting him. Fear shot through his body as another wave of coughs racked his lungs.

The world was darker now.

He heard a scream from somewhere in the woods. His chest tightened with fear as he turned towards the sound.

He could see the flicker of flames through the trees.

Tyler made his way toward the warm glow.

He pushed back another branch, finding himself face to face with the fire. Screams stung his ears.

He realized he too, was screaming in horror at what was in front of him.

Bodies writhed among the flames. Blood stained the snow. Screams carried into the air with the sparks.

Tyler turned, sprinting deeper into the woods. Branches caught at his coat and clawed at his cheeks. Ragged breaths burned his lungs. His legs kept pumping. Overhead, the owl's golden feathers rippled in the cold air, its bright eyes watching the man run madly through the woods, snow flying up with every panicked step.

Something pulled Tyler's foot out from under him. He expected to fall to the snow but instead, he kept falling. He fell into a deep hole, dirt falling over him. He cried out in pain, his wrist suddenly burning with hot pain. He fell onto his back. Another wave of coughs racked his lungs.

A young man stood over the grave, his black and gold cape caught in the cold wind. His dark gaze was locked on Tyler's. The feathers of his collar rippled. Snowflakes landed on his black hair. A centipede crawled over Tyler's hand. Then another. And another. The whole grave was filled with centipedes.

Tyler screamed till his throat was raw.

Tyler's bright eyes shot open. He sat up, staring around the room. Jonathan was sitting across the room, a book in his hands. When movement caught his eye, Jonathan looked up to see Tyler struggling to get the heavy wool blankets off.

"Stop that. You need to rest." Jonathan closed the book and got up. Tyler shook his head. He took a breath only for it to get caught in his chest. His shoulders shook with the violent coughs. "What were you doing out there alone? We found you laying in the snow half frozen to death! What made you go out there?" Tyler stared at Jonathan with wide eyes.

"I-I…" The image of the young man shrouded in golden feathers came back to him. His breath caught in his pained lungs. Coughs rattled his shoulders, forcing him to double over as phlegm filled his throat. Jonathan wrapped his arms around Tyler, rubbing his back as the coughs scratched his lungs. When it finally calmed, Jonathan helped him lie back down.

"I'll get the doctor. We should go home. You aren't well, Tyler." Jonathan insisted.

"No...I saw him...I saw the Grim...We can't go." Tyler said, still catching his breath. "I saw him in the woods…"

"What do you mean, you saw him?"

"I fell and when I looked up...He was standing there. He looked just like the man in the painting!" Tyler cried. "We can't go now."

"This isn't like you, Tyler." Jonathan sighed. "Try to rest." He got up, picking his hat and book up off the desk and headed for the door.

"We are not leaving, Jonathan," Tyler said.

Jonathan stopped at the door.

"Why is it that you got to see the Grim?" Jonathan's free hand curled into a fist. Tyler sat up, his brow furrowing. "Why did you get to see him? You didn't even believe in him!" He whirled around, his blue velvet coat swirling around him. "No you think he's evil!" Tyler had never heard this kind of fury in his apprentice's voice before. His eyes were dark.

"The Grim that's here in this town...he's not an angel."

"He said he is," Jonathan whispered. Tyler felt the blood drain from his face upon hearing those words.

"You hear him? When? When did he speak to you?" Tyler cried. Jonathan said nothing. He turned, opening the door and slammed it behind him. Tyler stared at where he was just standing, his chest tightening. He began to cough again.

 _I am beginning to understand the fear that people have about dying. I remember going into the woods and waking up in the snow unable to feel my fingers and toes, unable to feel anything but fear. I know what I saw in those woods. I know I fell into what could have only been a grave. I saw the Church Grim. He isn't an angel like Jonathan thinks he is, he's a demon. No angel would stand there and watch me drown in insects. It still feels like they are crawling on me. I know that the Church Grim has made me sick. With what, I don't know yet. Every time I cough it feels like nails are scratching up my lungs._

 _All of this reminds me of something I witnessed during my travels in Europe. There was a village in northern France that had become plagued by a disease that seemed to consume everyone. I knew what it was, but the people there did not. They had experienced this before, they said it was a vampyre. So the villagers formed a mob, angry at this beast for sucking the life from their loved ones. I had thought that they would go into the woods looking for the creature but instead, they went to the graveyard, digging up the man who had been the first to die. They called him a vampyre because they thought that he had come back to feed on the souls of the living. His name was Marcel. They dug up the coffin and the bones and they burned it. If this helped, I do not know for I left shortly after, disturbed by what I had seen._

 _If Marcel had come back from the dead, then what good does burning his bones do? I think that it didn't work. I think that it did nothing but hurt him to see family and friends dig up his bones and burn them in anger. I know what it's like to lose a loved one to something you cannot control. I also know what its like to watch them burn. I cannot imagine, if it were possible, what Marcel would feel at the sight of them burning his bones, and calling him a murderer._

 _That said if such a creature is feasting on my soul, if a vampyre is sinking its teeth into my lungs, I pray it's quick because if not, I'll find its bones…._

The ink splotched as the pen slipped from Tyler's hand, falling to the blanket. His head felt like it was burning. He pushed the journal aside, draping his right arm over his head, his eyes closed tightly. He groaned in pain as a wave of heat crashed over him. He struggled to kick the heavy blankets off. Sweat soaked into the sheets.

"J-Jonathan!" Tyler called out. Ink from his pen created a black stain on the sheet. "Jon, please! Help me!" There was no answer. Struggling to breathe, Tyler turned his head to look at the door. Warm, orange light glowed from the crack under the door. Smoke began to drift into the room. A cough clawed at Tyler's lungs. He moved to sit up only to find that something was pinning him down to the bed. "Jonathan!" Tyler struggled against the weight holding him down. The smell of smoke got stronger. The fire began to eat at the door. "Jonathan!" Tyler closed his eyes tightly, fearing the pain of burning to death, trapped under something he could not see. The flames burst into the room, latching onto everything they could find. Tyler screamed as it neared him.

"Tyler!" His eyes shot open. There was no fire. There was no smoke. Tyler stared up at Jonathan, his breath coming out in ragged wheezes. "You're okay. You're okay. Just a nightmare…" Jonathan reassured him. Looking around the room, Tyler slowly laid back, the feeling of exhaustion weighing his eyelids down. He didn't want to sleep, he was scared of the things he'd see but sleep gave him no choice.

Tyler drifted in and out of sleep, feverish figures floating around him. He would come to see Jonathan sitting across the room, book in hand but his eyes were not on his book. They were on the open doorway. Tyler never saw what was there for he fell back into a deep sleep.

Tyler awoke to cold, morning sunlight filling the room through the small window. Taking a deep breath, he sat up. His pen with its small bottle of ink had placed with his book on the desk. His black and gold coat and linen shirt hung over the wooden chair, his boots neatly waiting at the foot of his bed. He got up slowly, his breath hitching. He coughed a few times, the scratching feeling still alarming to him. After getting dressed, he pulled his coat on, the gold embroidery glinting in the dim light. He slowly opened the door and made his way down the dark hallway towards the thin staircase.

The staircase creaked under his boots.

"Tyler? What are you doing up?" Jonathan stood up when he saw him. He had been having breakfast with a couple of other travellers who were staying there.

"I feel better," Tyler said quietly. Jonathan didn't look convinced, insisting that he sit down and having something to eat. When a plate of warm bread and a slice of meat was passed to him, Tyler found himself without an appetite. He forced himself to rip off a piece of the bread and eat it. He coughed, almost spitting the bread out. Jonathan watched him, an odd expression on his face. "Have you heard anything new about Brian? How is he?"

"Not much better."

"We should go see him."

"Are you sure?"

"Enchanted or possessed, he knows something. He knows who is responsible for this. Someone had to have summoned the demons here."

"What if they weren't...summoned intentionally?" Jonathan asked. Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Say that they were summoned by an event, not a ritual."

"I suppose it's possible but why would that be? What would have to have happened to summon them here?" Tyler leaned back in his chair, pushing the plate away. Jonathan frowned.

"We could ask Brian."

The snow crunched under Tyler's boots. He shivered, finding himself walking slower than his normal pace. Jonathan stayed close to him as they made their way through the village to Brian's home.

"You shouldn't push yourself," Jonathan said quietly. Tyler ignored that comment. He felt fine.

"Excuse me! Sir! Tyler, sir! May I have a word with you? My name is Daithi, sir." The two men turned to see a tall man standing in front of them, catching his breath. Tyler waited. "I-I...I know you're busy...but this is important! I promise ye!"

"Go on."

"Just off the coast here, they were scoping out the land on a small island for the first lighthouse on this coastline...Our village sent out two men to settle and manage a few lanterns on the ground till the lighthouse could be built...They never came back. Last spring we sent out two men and found them dead, starved to death. No one believes me, they are still out there! They got to move on! You gotta help me do that. You know about the devil...I'm worried something is holding them there. The Grim can't find them!" Daithi explained, his thick accent spilling over the words. Jonathan snuck a knowing smile at Tyler at the mention of the Grim.

"You want us to abandon a man possibly enchanted by witches or possessed by demons to talk to some ghosts?"

"No, sir...I just...They were my friends is all. I want to help them."

"This place is on an island you said? You could use rest away from here, Tyler. Perhaps distance will make things clearer." Jonathan suggested. "The magistrate is still a few days away."

"Are you out of your mind? We can't leave Brian."

"It'll only be for a day. I think all they need is a day." The tall man persisted. Tyler sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I'll think about it."

"Thank you." The tall man said. Jonathan turned and continued on to Brian's house. Before he could follow, Tyler was stopped by the man. "I heard your apprentice has been in the church...talking to someone...You had better keep an eye on him. He may have signed the devil's book."

"Jonathan wouldn't…" Tyler shook his head but he couldn't help but remember Jonathan's admission to the Grim talking to him. Tyler raised his gaze, seeing the tall church over Daithi's shoulder, it's spire looming into the sky. His breath caught in his throat.

"Maybe he was tricked." Daithi whispered. "Keep an eye on him." With that, he turned, walking away from Tyler who began coughing, his shoulders shaking violently. Tyler reached into his coat pocket for his handkerchief, pressing the white fabric against his mouth. When the coughing calmed, he pulled the handkerchief away. His eyes widened. Blood soaked through the white fabric.


	8. Chapter 4

The coffee tray wobbled in Craig's hand as he made his way through the busy halls, his messenger bag bumping against his side. He made his way past students talking in groups inconveniently in the middle of the hall, towards the stairs.

"Craig!" He stopped, seeing one of his students, Scotty, hurrying towards him. "I forgot to email you for an extension with the latest assignment. Do you think it'd be okay if I handed it in next class?" Craig sighed. The tray in his hand was getting heavy.

"I don't know, you should email Simone."

"Right, okay. Just, some stuff came up and-'

"Okay, Scotty. It's fine." Craig said with a reassuring smile. "Next class."

"Thank you!" Craig nodded and continued up the stairs. He continued up to the office floor. He stopped at Sami's door, knocking awkwardly.

"Come in!" Sami's voice called out. Craig got the door open, his lips spreading into a smile when he saw her.

"For you." He set the tray down on the desk, pulling the sweet drink from the tray and handed it to her.

"Aw, thank you!" She smiled, standing to kiss his cheek. "How are you doing? You don't still feel...weird, do you?" Craig shrugged.

"I'm fine. You still want to go out tonight?' He asked, feeling his stomach flip with nerves. With a smile, she nodded.

"Don't fall asleep on me again." She chided him. He took a sip of his own coffee, giving her a playful wink. "You should get going or you'll be late to your own class." He checked the time, a jolt of panic shooting through him. He gave her a quick kiss and hurried out of the office, making his way back downstairs to the classroom.

Though not everyone was there, Craig was suddenly aware of the eyes on him as he entered the room. He kept his eyes down as he made his way to his desk and began to set up his laptop and lecture. He had never felt this way before a class before. He felt nervous. Eyes burned into him. When he looked up, no one was looking at him. The students were either on their phones or talking to the person beside them, not a single one was looking at him. He took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let his fear stop him from doing his job. He coughed. His students looked up at him.

"So, today we're going to continue with where Simone left off." He struggled to keep his voice calm despite the crawling feeling on the back of his neck. He took roll and started the lecture. "By far, the most popular of Germanic folklore is the Doppelganger. It falls under the category of omens of death, particularly to those who see their own doppelganger. Now, why do you think that this story might resonate with people so much?" No one raised their hand. Biting his lip, Craig continued on.

"How are things going for you, Craig?" The students were filling out of the room after class when Luke arrived. Craig closed his laptop with a shrug.

"Fine. I've been reading that book." Craig said, looking up at his professor. He wore a casual black suit that brought out the pale scar tissue across his eye. Luke had said he had gotten the scar when he was young; a nasty fall, he had said.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know...It's odd. Different from other books written by witch hunters. Why? Have you read it?"

"Most of it, yes. Tyler has quite a way of expressing his experiences." Luke smiled. "Will you writing about it in your thesis?"

"I might."

"I'm looking forward to it. Remember, the due date is next month."

"I know." Craig sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll get it in on time. You know, I think I will write more about Venefica now that I think about it. It seems odd that Tyler's encountered almost everything one can think of. Church Grims, vampires, ghosts, demons, you name it. Perhaps he was caught up in the hysteria of the time."

"Perhaps." Luke leaned against one of the desks, his eyes on Craig. "Have you thought more about taking a visit to this town to help your research?"

"Not really...I've had other things on my mind." Craig shrugged, his eyes on the desk in front of him. "I'll think about it."

Voices and music filled the pub. Waiters made their way past busy tables, their trays filled with plates of fries and burgers. Sitting at the bar, Sami and Craig leaned in close to one another. They struggled to hear each other over the noise but they didn't mind.

"So!" Sami stole a fry from Craig's plate. "You have to tell me more about that weird shit your professor gave you!"

"You want to hear about it?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay...Well uh...There's the book...And the noose which is bizarre on its own. Then the jacket which I'm starting to think is Tyler's. I found it hanging on my chair last night." Craig explained.

"What?" She nearly choked on her beer.

"Yeah...I don't remember doing that. I mean, I might have but I really don't remember doing it."

"Huh…So if it is a ghost, are you scared? Do you need me to come home with you?" She smiled at him. A blush spread across Craig's cheeks. He shook his head for he knew she was busy tomorrow but later that night when he dropped her off at home, he found it hard to say goodbye. He had never been more aware of how alone he was than on that drive home.

The radio was on quietly. Headlights illuminated the dark forest that surrounded the road. The red car sped down the old highway. With his mind on the warm evening he had just spent with Sami, he didn't notice the body that hung from a tree at the side of the road, the headlights glinting off velvet for just a moment.

Setting the beer bottle down on his desk, Craig sat down and opened his laptop. He opened his thesis work, scrolling down to the last part he had been working on. He noticed his note that he had left to look up the museum where the artifacts were from. He took a sip of his beer as he opened another tab, typing in the name of the museum with one hand. The search came up with a few results, one of them the website for the museum. Clicking on it, the page loaded up quickly, showing a picture of the old building in which all of the artifacts were housed. A small paragraph underneath explained that it was the courthouse for most of the town's history. It went on to say that almost twenty people had been sentenced to hang for witchcraft in that courthouse. Craig went through the website, taking notes on things that stuck out to him.

He stopped when he came to a page that had a link in the about section, detailing its main display. There was a picture of an old bedroom from an inn that had been recreated. Craig could see red spots on the pillow and an open book with an ink pen beside it on the wooden desk. Realization came over him as he read the paragraph underneath; it's a recreation of Tyler's room at the town's inn. Craig found himself unable to take his eyes off the picture.

He imagined Tyler sitting at the desk, writing at the desk.

He imagined him pacing the room, trying to piece together the identity of the witch.

He imagined him laying in that bed, sick with something caused by an entity.

He scrolled down after he read the paragraph and came face to face with a painting of Tyler. He wore a white linen shirt and cravat, his long black and gold velvet coat over top. He leaned against what looked like the back of a wooden pew. The painter had tried to make it seem like he wasn't leaning heavily on it for support. His gaze seemed haunted. Craig hadn't finished reading Venefica yet and wished he had. He wanted desperately to know what weighed over Tyler.

At the bottom of the article was another link that read "click here to find out about the magistrate that sentenced them all to hang" but Craig felt too tired to read anymore. He closed the laptop and finished his beer.

Alex slept at Craig's feet. The clock on the bedside table ticked past three am. Snow fell gently outside. Craig rolled over onto his back in his sleep. The trees in the forest slowly moved back and forth in the cold wind, their branches creaking like cold bones. The camera rolled in the hallway. A light orb flew up the stairs, disappearing once it reached the top. The wood floor creaked. The bedroom doorknob turned. It clicked.

Craig's eyes opened. He sat up slowly, looking around for what woke him. There was nothing. He glanced at the time and groaned, falling back onto his pillow. As he closed his eyes, the door slowly began to open. Craig fell back into a deep sleep. He began to dream of a dark forest that wasn't much different from the one in his backyard. He stared up at the tall trees, slowly making his way through the snow. He could see the flicker of a warm light through the trees.

Emerging from the woods, his eyes landing on a tall white church that stood tall in front of him. He walked towards its doors. He could hear someone yelling. He heard the sound of wood breaking under an axe. He pushed open the door, almost expecting to see someone slamming an axe down onto the floorboards of the church but there was no one. The church was empty. The door closed behind him. Craig slowly made his way down the aisle. In the dark, he could see a glimmer of gold. He turned his head, his eyes landing on the painting that hung on the wall. He knew that painting. He reached into his pocket, finding the drawing on old parchment paper there.

"Are you the Grim?" Craig whispered. A door closed. He turned his head, seeing the door that lead to the pastor's office. A chill crept down Craig's spine.

"Mother please…" A voice suddenly screamed. Craig spun around. "Mother! No!" It was coming from under the floorboards. Something hit the floorboards. The wood began to rattle violently. The voice kept screaming. Craig staggered backwards, falling to the hardwood floor. He stared at the shaking floor, unable to breathe. The screaming hurt his ears. He scrambled backwards, propping himself against the altar, his hands pressed over his ears.

It stopped.

Silence descended over the church.

Craig slowly moved his hands away from his ears.

A shadow passed by the windows outside.

Craig's eyes were locked on the doors to the church.

There was a knock. Then another. Than another.

Three knocks.

The doors flew open.

Craig screamed, closing his eyes tightly as he covered his face with his hands.

Craig's eyes shot open. He stared up at the ceiling, struggling to catch his breath. Realising that it was just a dream, he managed a sigh, closing his eyes.

"Just a dream…" He whispered.

His chest hurt. Craig tried to brush it off, thinking he might have just slept wrong on it.

His back hurt. Craig tried to ignore it, shifting his weight on his back.

Craig's eyes opened again. He spread his right hand. He felt hardwood, not the soft warmth of his mattress. He could make out the wall near him. He turned his head, seeing the door to his bedroom. The blankets had been dragged off. The bedside table was missing, the lamp and alarm clock thrown the floor. The glass of water that had been on the table now lay in shards in a puddle of water.

His ribs felt like they were going to break.

Craig slowly turned his head. He could see table legs, two on his chest, the other two on his torso. The legs were digging into his skin, as if there was a great weight on top of the bedside table.

The office door violently swung open.

A smoky, black mass began to materialize inside the office, blocking out the window behind it.

Craig began screaming.

He gripped the legs as panic set in, struggling to get the table off. It only pressed down harder. The black mass began to surge towards the door. Craig kept struggling. He could hear his dog barking frantically. The black mass kept getting closer. It oozed out of the door and surged towards him. Craig screamed in terror.

The table suddenly flew off him, falling to the floor. Craig scrambled to his feet. He picked up his dog and ran down the stairs. He managed to grab his keys from the table in the front hall, stuffing his bare feet into his boots and pulled open the door without looking back. In just a t-shirt and pyjama pants, the cold stung but he couldn't go back. He unlocked his car, getting Alex into the front seat before running around to the driver's side. He frantically put the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life as he turned it. He stepped on the gas and sped down the driveway, snow and gravel flying up from under the tyres.

As the red car sped off into the night, the lights inside the tall house flickered on and off wildly. A scream echoed off the walls.


	9. IV The Ghost and The Ghoul

_The story that I am about to tell is a sad story, full of nothing but grief. I was told this story by Daithi who was a good friend of these unfortunate men for whom he doesn't want this story to be forgotten. The job of finding a place for the first lighthouse in this colony was given to two young explorers named Smitty and John. They had been up north for some time before coming here to help settle the land. They were inseparable, Daithi tells me. They left in the spring of the year before and weren't heard from again. The following is from a letter written by John that was found on the island, in the case that he could not explain what happened;_

" _It was accidental. It was sudden and I could do nothing to save his life. The house had been built before winter and all was fine. The lanterns were kept well lit every day to guide the ships. It was at the start of winter when the cold set in and things began to freeze over when it happened. Smitty was by the rocks when he fell and hit his head. There had been so much blood. There was no time for me to sail back to the mainland to get help and with the storms and rough water, there would have been no chance of our survival. He died that evening, not knowing what happened to him. He couldn't speak, couldn't even open his eyes. I couldn't keep the body inside because of the smell, so I made a makeshift coffin and propped him up outside. I waited. I waited for help for so long but none ever came. If you are reading this, it's because you let me starve. You forgot about us."_

 _Daithi told me that help never came because whenever a ship would pass by, they would see a man leaning against the cabin's wall. They all said that he seemed just fine. Now, Daithi believes that the ghosts of Smitty and John are still there and need help moving on. Jonathan thinks that he can bring the Church Grim that far but I don't believe it._

 _I've been keeping an eye on him. He seems quite possessive over this Grim. One wrong word or look when he is talking about it and he gets upset with me for not believing in the benevolence of the entity. Daithi has told me that people are talking in town about him. They think it's him, that he is the witch. They think he's the one who started all of this with the help of a demon disguising itself as their Church Grim. I fear that someone will actually accuse him when the magistrate arrives. I have tried to defend someone before in a witch trial and failed...I don't know if I can do it again._

 _However, I know that Jonathan is a good man, he'd never make any deal, never talk with any entity, any demon._

Tyler slowly raised his gaze from the book on his lap. The small rowboat swayed back and forth on the cold, calm water. A blanket of mist floated through the air and soaked through the trees on the shore behind them and on the islands in front of them. Jonathan sat across from Tyler, his eyes on a piece of paper in his hands. He had drawn the Church Grim, sketched like the painting, and had brought it with him. Tyler stared at the paper and the recreation of the Church Grim's portrait there. He shivered.

 _I would not dare confess this to Jonathan or anyone else, but that certainly is starting to waver. Perhaps he has been tricked, or perhaps he knows full well what he is doing. I don't know which one is better, in this case, they are both damning. I am scared. I'm so scared for Jonathan. I pray that this stops soon for his sake. I can't watch another person burn._

"Do you see it?" Daithi pointed to a small island ahead of them. Among the snow covered trees were glowing lanterns meant to guide the ships to safety. Jonathan tucked the drawing into his pocket, turning to look over his shoulder at the island. Daithi set the oar down, letting the small boat float along the dark water. Tyler glanced down at the inky water, imagining that just below the surface, were creatures with sharp teeth and tentacles. Looking back up at the island, he could feel a weight hanging over him. He felt angry, he felt sad.

"What exactly do you want us to do?"

"Just...help them in any way you know how."

"We don't know how." Tyler coughed, pressing his hand over his mouth. He could feel blood hit his palm. He wiped it off on his jacket, not wanting Jonathan to see. "Talking with spirits tends to go along with witchcraft." Jonathan glanced back at Tyler, meeting his warning gaze.

"Than why are ye here?" Daithi snapped. Tyler's gaze fell from Jonathan.

"I want to help them," Tyler whispered after a few moments of heavy silence. "Despite it being considered witchcraft." He wasn't going to admit that he was avoiding the bloodletting the doctor wanted to try.

"Thank you for taking the risk." Despite his gratitude, there was still an edge of anger in Daithi's voice. When the boat finally docked, he was grateful to put some distance between himself and them. "You're welcome to go anywhere on the island. Just don't fall or anything."

"Right," Tyler said as he made his way up the beach towards the lanterns. The warm glow reflected off the undisturbed snow, giving it a sparkle in the dying light of day. He stopped by one of the lanterns that hung from a frozen tree branch, the golden thread on his coat sparkling in the golden light. Pressing his hand against the glass, he could feel the warmth of the flame. Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Tyler turned his head, his bright blue eyes scanning the trees; there was nothing there.

Looking back at the glowing lantern, he found himself reaching into his pocket for his pen and its capsule of ink. He opened his book to the next blank page. As he sketched the lantern, he could hear someone walking through the snow behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Daithi heading towards the small cabin. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. Turning to look back down at the journal, Tyler began to cough. Tiny drops of spit and blood fell onto the paper before he could stop it. "Damn it," Tyler muttered. His inky black drawing of the lantern was now splattered with blood. He sighed and closed the book.

The narrow wooden door creaked open. The candle in Tyler's hand flickered in the cold air. The dim light illuminated the small room. At the far end, under the small window was a bed, it's blankets messy and covered with a thin layer of dust. On the small desk was a bowl and simple water pitcher. A black coat hung off one of the bedposts. On the bed by the pillow was a book, still open to the last page Smitty had been on.

"Nothing in here has been touched." Daithi had explained. "I don't want no one to touch it till they are at rest. Just try talking to them...anything. Please just try." Now, as Tyler closed the door, set the candle down on the table and sat down on the bed, he felt silly. He could lie to Daithi but that would be cruel.

So Tyler sat in silence in a dead boy's room.

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes welling up with tears. He didn't want to cry.

"I'm not sad…" Tyler whispered. He bit his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. "Stop it." Tears spilt from his eyes. He pressed a hand over his mouth to stop the sob from escaping his lips. "I'm so sorry…" Tyler whispered to the empty room. "I'm so sorry." He took a deep, shuddering breath as he slowly laid back on the dusty bed, his arms spread out like wings. His fingers curled around the blanket. Tears spilt down the sides of his head into his hair. He closed his eyes.

His fingertips felt cold, as if they had been dipped in the ocean. His head felt heavy. Slowly, he sat up, his head rolling from shoulder to shoulder. He opened his eyes. Everything in the room was where it should be, he didn't like it out of place.

"Tyler?" There was a knock at the door. His brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

"Who is it?" He asked.

"Jon...Are you alright?"

"John?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes…" The door opened. A man with a blue feather tucked into his hat stood in the doorway. His shoulders fell with a disappointed sigh.

"Tyler?" The man knelt down in front of him. "Can you look at me?" He didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on the door, waiting. "Tyler! Look at me!" He looked down at him. "Why do your eyes look like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tyler…" The man with a feather in his hat turned away, his gaze on the door; he looked scared. "Daithi!" Footsteps came towards the door. His eyes were on the door but did not see the tall man enter. He did not hear them talking to him. He simply stared for what only felt like a moment. A dark shadow stood in the doorway. He wanted to apologize for leaving him so suddenly. "Tyler!"

Tyler blinked and raised his head, looking up at Jonathan.

"When did you get in here?" Tyler managed to whisper.

Jonathan suddenly wrapped his arms around Tyler. Confused, he looked up at Daithi who could only stare back. "You weren't yourself. You just sat there for so long…"

"What are you talking about?" Tyler's brow furrowed. He remembered laying down after he had just walked in. Hadn't he just walked in the room? "I've only been in here a few minutes."

"No." Jonathan shook his head. "It's been a lot longer than that."

The fire in the hearth crackled and spat sparks into the chimney. Sitting by the fire, his book in his lap and pen in hand, Tyler found himself unable to write. He could only watch the flames and think about how his lungs rasped with every inhale and ached with every exhale. He felt exhausted but sleep evaded him.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Jonathan said with a sigh from where he sat across from Tyler.

"Talk about what?"

"You know what."

"No. I don't. What do you want to talk about, Jonathan?" Tyler's whisper was sharp. He shot a cautious glance at Daithi who was snoring on a cot across the room.

"You're sick." Jonathan hissed. Silence fell over the room. Tyler lowered his gaze from his apprentice. The warm firelight casted dark shadows onto the wooden walls.

The door to the dead boy's bedroom was closed.

"And?"

"How bad is it?"

"Jonathan...I can't tell you."

"Why?" His voice raised. Daithi stirred in his sleep. Tyler grit his teeth, his hands curling into fists. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I don't know how bad it is! I don't know and it terrifies me, Jonathan! I didn't want to scare you! Even if I did know how bad it is, I wouldn't tell you. How am I supposed to tell you that I might be dying from something I can't see? How am I supposed to tell you that you might be on your own soon?" The pen dropped to the wood floor. He covered his face with his hands. He couldn't meet Jonathan's stricken gaze. "You're right...We should have left when we had the chance. We should have gone home...I don't want to die here, Jonathan."

"You won't."

The fire crackled.

Tyler sighed.

The door to the dead boy's room stood open.

"How do you know?"

"I don't know…"

"So why would you say that?" Tyler couldn't stop the annoyance that came over him. He wanted everything to be fixed right now. How dare Jonathan think that he could just guess Tyler's fate? "Why would you guess about something like that?"

"Tyler, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You did anyways!"

"I'm sorry!" Jonathan cried. Before Tyler could say another word, he began to cough. His lungs burned as they forced phlegm and blood up his throat. Pressing his hands over his mouth, he closed his eyes as Jonathan got up to kneel beside him, his eyes wide with worry. "You should be resting...All of this can't be helping you."

"I-I'm fine…" Tyler wheezed.

"No, you're not. I'm taking you to Jamestown to get some proper help."

"I'm fine, Jonathan!"

"Stop lying!"

A shadow passed by the window.

Something hit the wall outside.

The two men froze. Daithi suddenly sat up, looking around the room in dazed confusion. Tyler slowly got to his feet, setting his book down on the arm of the chair.

"Did you do that?"

"No…"

"Than what was it?" Tyler whispered. Daithi got to his feet, silently moving for his gun that leaned against the wall by the door. He grabbed the gunpowder that hung beside it and moved back to the two Witch Hunters who found themselves unable to move.

Another shadow passed by the window.

"What have you brought here?" Daithi muttered as he struggled to load the gun.

"Excuse me?"

"This was never an evil place! What have ye brought here? Demons?"

"No! The Grim isn't a demon!" Jonathan cried. He turned to Tyler in desperation but he did not help him. Tyler stared at Jonathan, his eyes cold.

"The Grim doesn't talk to people! He doesn't do nothing but protect the church! What you're talking to is the devil himself! You're a witch! You've brought the devil to this place and I'll see you hanged for it!" Daithi screamed. The fire sparked violently. The trees outside stood still in the cold air. Prints appeared in the snow.

"He's not the devil! He's scared! His mother...She did it!" Jonathan cried, his arms up in surrender. "Tyler, please! You have to believe me! He's not the devil! He's not evil!"

"I saw the Grim in the woods, Jon." Tyler breathed. Jonathan stared at Tyler, his hands shaking.

"If they hang me for witchcraft...They'll hang you too." Jonathan threatened. "That book…" He pointed to Tyler's book. "It's your grimoire!"

"No, it's not!" Tyler yelled. "How dare you accuse me?"

"What have you been writing in that book?" Daithi demanded. Gritting his teeth, Tyler grabbed Venefica and held it open for Daithi to see. "It's a journal. I just write what has been happening to me! Nothing more!"

"Everything started after you arrived. Brian is possessed. People are going missing. People keep saying that the devil is knocking on their doors at night." Daithi spat. "Now there's something here that wasn't before! How dare you bring the devil to Smitty and John! They were good! Good, ye hear!" Tyler lowered his eyes to the floor upon hearing the pain in Daithi's voice. A cold gust of air suddenly blew the fire out. Tyler shivered as the room was plunged into darkness. "Oh...God…" Daithi breathed.

"Tyler…" Jonathan whispered. Tyler raised a finger to his lips. Silence fell heavily over the cabin. They could hear the wind outside. They could hear Tyler's wheezing breaths. They could hear a coyote call through the woods. They could hear footsteps coming through the snow, getting louder and louder as they approached the door. They couldn't take their eyes off the door. A garbled laugh came outside.

There was a knock on the door.

Then a second knock.

Then a third.

Then silence.

Tyler grabbed the gun from Daithi, storming towards the door. He curled his hand around the door handle. "Don't!" Daithi screamed. Tyler yanked the door open. A gust of cold air filled the cabin. There was nothing there; just snow and a goat's hoof prints. Looking up from the snow, Tyler's eyes widened. A great black mass was rushing towards him from the trees. It seemed to ooze across the snow. Tyler held up the gun and fired. Sparks flew around his face. The bullet went through the mass and embedded itself in a tree. A hand curled around Tyler's arm and pulled. He fell to the wood floor as the door slammed shut.

Dazed, Tyler slowly propped himself up against the door. Daithi stood in front of him, his eyes wide with horror. From where he stood by the fireplace, Jonathan looked pale and unsteady, as if he might faint. "You let him in…" Daithi whispered. Tyler looked up at him as he heaved for air. He could taste blood.

"Who?"

"The devil…"


	10. Chapter 5

Every house on the quiet suburban street lay dark and quiet, deep in slumber only disturbed by the roar of an engine. The red car sped down the street, it's driver looking nervously into the rearview mirror, expecting someone, or rather, something to be in the backseat, watching him. The car suddenly pulled into one of the many snow-covered driveways. Craig quickly opened the door and called for his dog, nearly sprinting to the front door. He knocked urgently and didn't stop until the hall-light turned on and the door opened.

"Craig?" Sami's eyes widened at the sight of him standing on her doorstep in nothing but pyjamas and winter boots, his dog at his side. "What happened? What are you doing here?"

"P-Please...Can I come in?" Craig stammered.

"Yeah...Of course. Come in." She stepped back, letting him inside. She closed the door behind him as he slowly kicked off his boots. "Do you want anything? I got hot chocolate, tea... I got beer too if you'd prefer that?"

"Just water…" Craig whispered. He slowly made his way to the couch, collapsing onto the soft cushions. There was a pack of tarot cards on the coffee table.

"O-Okay...I'll be right back."

"Okay…" Craig breathed, his eyes on his dog who was excitedly running around the room. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch. With every breath, he was reminded of the bruises on his chest in the shape of the ends of table legs. Every ache sent a jolt of fear through him.

"Here." He looked up to see Sami standing in front of him, a cup of water in her hand. He took it with a shaking hand, the water rippling.

"Craig...What happened?"

"Y-You won't believe me."

"Just tell me, Craig."

"I don't know how…"

"Okay...How about start with why you're here?" She gave him a reassuring smile.

"Something is in your house?"

"It's bad...Really bad. I'm pretty skeptical about these stories I study but now...I'm not sure if they are stories anymore." Craig stammered. "I thought I was going to die. All I could do was run...I had to run."

"Run…"

"There is something that's pure evil in my house. I felt it. I saw it...It came from that book."

"You mean Venefica?"

"Yes."

"What did it to do you?" She breathed. Craig couldn't find the words to explain how it had trapped him, so he raised his shirt to show her the dark bruises. "Oh my god."

"I don't know what to do." Craig dropped the hem of his shirt and brought his hands to his face, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"You don't have to do anything right now. Just try to get some rest, okay? We'll figure it out in the morning. You're exhausted, Craig. Don't push yourself."

"It drove me out of my home!"

"You're home isn't gone." Her voice was firm. Craig stared at her, surprised. "It will be okay. I'm not going to leave you."

Craig dreamed he was home. He walked slowly down the front hallway, coming to a stop at the stairs.

Standing at the bottom of his staircase, he looked up at the young man that stood at the top, his dark gaze locked onto Craig. The young man wore a black velvet jacket over his white linen shirt and black trousers, his boots looking muddy. The young man began to cough, his black hair falling over his eyes. He took a step down the stairs. Gold feathers grew from his collar. He spat blood onto the wood. A black cape shrouded him, the feathers wrapping their way around his neck like a noose.

"Magistrate..." The young man choked out.

"Magistrate..." Craig repeated. The young man reached the bottom of the stairs, reaching out for Craig. His hand grasped his. It felt deathly cold.

"Sentenced them to hang..." Suddenly Craig was falling. He landed on snow.

His hand was bleeding.

Someone had cut it.

Craig's eyes flickered open. He stared up at the ceiling of Sami's bedroom, trying to remember his dream before it disappeared from him completely. As he sat up the door opened, startling him. Sami gave him a smile, setting a cup of coffee for him down on the bedside table. The room seemed to have a soft glow, the thin white curtains hanging in front of the windows shining from the sunlight that made the snow outside sparkle. On the dresser, a stick of incense in it's stand burned, giving the room a sage like smell. Beside it were a handful of rose quartz and a sphere of black obsidian on a delicate stand.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"That's good." She sat down beside him on the warm blankets. Despite her smile, he could see the concern in her eyes. They could hear a dog barking outside and children playing in the snow, their laughs and shrieks echoing up and down the street.

"You want to know what happened don't you?"

"Would you be mad if I said yes?"

"No...It's okay." Craig reached for her hand. "I don't want to feel alone." He took a deep breath, his eyes on the soft, heavy. white blanket. "Ever since my professor gave me that book, something has been following me. I felt it the first night I had it in the school and I felt it at home. I keep hearing someone walking around in my house and I've been having these dreams...Last night, before it happened...I had a dream about being in a church and there was someone trapped under the floorboards. They kept screaming...And then I woke up on the floor in my hallway…" He trailed off, his voice trembling with fear. The memory of it caused a surge of fear to shoot through his chest. Sami's hand tightened on his. "Something had dragged me out of my bed, left me on the floor...and took my bedside table and put it on my chest. It felt like something was pressing down on it like it wanted the dull wood to pierce my chest...And there was this black mass...It came out of my office towards me and that was when the table just flew off and I was able to escape." As he finished his story, silence once more descended over the room. A child's playful scream from outside made Craig jump.

"You said the table flew off you?"

"I don't know, it all happened so fast."

"Maybe not all of it is evil. Maybe someone is looking out for you. Maybe it's Tyler." She smiled, trying to make light of the situation. Craig shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips.

"It's probably my great-grandmother mad that something is disturbing her."

"Maybe!" She laughed. Craig found himself smiling, his fear elevated for just a moment. "We should find out what exactly it is. You shouldn't run from it."

"You've been watching too many ghost shows. I'm getting rid of the book."

"You can't get rid of it! There has to be an explanation. Maybe it's in Venefica!"

"Sami, I don't want to deal with this anymore. I don't want to feel unsafe in my own home! I'm getting rid of it."

"How?"

"I don't know, I'll send it back to the museum. If that doesn't work...I'll burn it."

"I don't think you should do that."

"Why?"

"Let's just suppose that something is attached to the book...It's already angry. What would it do if you tried to destroy the book?" She seemed oddly serious. Craig's brow furrowed.

"I didn't think that you would be so into this…" He muttered.

"We should go back to your place...We should try to get answers. Even if that just means researching the book and Tyler more. Do you know what happened to Tyler? Did he find the witch?"

"Well...Not exactly. At least that's what I've gotten from what I've read so far. A bunch of pages are missing too...Torn out I think."

"Maybe we have to help him?"

"I don't think so…"

"Come on, Craig! You know it's real and happening!" She grasped his hand tightly with both hands, looking at him with big, determined eyes. "I'm not scared."

"I am."

Looming from the white, undisturbed snow was the tall farmhouse. The red car slowly made its way up the driveway. Finally convinced by the idea of getting some belongings and a winter jacket, Craig slowly parked the car.

"Do you want to wait here?" Craig sighed, turning to look at Sami who shook her head. "Okay." He took the keys out of the ignition and pushed open his door. They made their way through the snow up to the porch. Craig pushed open the door only to be greeted with a gust of cold air. The two shivered.

"You should get the book."

"I'm not getting the book."

"Why?"

"I don't want what's attached to it to follow us," Craig said sharply as he made his way down the hall. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, almost expecting to see the young man with black hair and dark eyes standing at the top. There was nothing but the bedside table still laying on its side where it had landed. The office door was closed.

"Hey, Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you leave the back door open?"

"No. Why?" He moved away from the stairs and down the hall to the back living room where Sami stood by the open back door. There were wet boot prints trailing in from the porch. The snow outside was undisturbed. His hands curled into fists. He stormed towards the door, slamming it shut. "I'm going to burn it! Fuck whatever is attached to it! This is my house!" Craig yelled. "I will not be driven from my own home! Fuck it!"

"Craig!"

"I'm not doing this! I'm not researching it! I'm not reading it! I'm not going to the town! I'm burning the fucking book!"

"You can't!"

"I am! I'm sick of this! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't!"

"It means something! Something happened to Tyler!"

"That was hundreds of years ago!"

"So?"

"Things have changed! Tyler is long dead, end of story! I'm burning it!"

Something crashed to the floor upstairs.

They both froze, slowly looking up at the ceiling.

"What was that?"

"I don't know…"

The stairs creaked.

Heavy footsteps thudded on the floor above them.

"Someone is up there."

"We're in the middle of nowhere here...Who could be up there?"

Something hit the wall upstairs. Craig took a deep breath. He started towards the stairs. In the hallway, he found himself shivering. He wrapped his fingers around the bannister. He told himself that he was just going to get the book so he could get rid of it.

He stopped in the middle of the staircase.

He could hear voices.

They were yelling.

He told himself he had to calm them down. He hurried up the rest of the staircase. The wood floor thudded under his boots. He pushed open the wooden door. He stopped.

Wide eyes stared back at him. The dark room was illuminated with lanterns and candles. It was bright enough for the light to glimmer off the gold thread hemmed onto the black velvet coat worn by the man who stood in front of him, his bright eyes full of rage. Behind him stood a man who wore a hat with a blue feather tucked into its ribbon and behind him were the townspeople who watched with wide, fearful eyes. His hands curled into a fist. "How dare you yell at me?" He spat.

"What? I didn't say anything!" Craig turned. He stood in the middle of his office. Sami stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. "You look pale...Are you okay?" He took a shaking step towards her. He could see feet hanging from the ceiling behind her. His gaze lifted. A man hung from the bloody noose, his hat on the floor under his feet. "Craig?" He took one more step only to collapse to the floor.

A blue feather twitched in the cold air.


	11. V The Banshee

_For once I am at a loss for words. I don't know how to put into words what I experienced last night. Daithi said it was the devil...I don't know what to call it. We had heard knocking last night at the door and when I answered it, there was nothing but this great, black mass. It came towards me and not even a bullet could stop it. Everything after that becomes foggy...A mess of being unable to sleep and fear of what is just outside the window and what is already inside...The people inside._

 _Daithi accused us of witchcraft. Or rather, he accused Jonathan who accused me which I admit, is odd. Before coming here, he was never like the person to throw around accusations let alone talk to me, his teacher, like that. I told Daithi, practically begged him not to tell anyone in town this but with the Magistrate just days away from arriving, I can't trust him._

 _I am not a witch. I have never made a deal with the devil or communicated with him in any sort of way._

 _I heard Jonathan talking to someone last night. He said that he felt sorry and that he wished he could change what happened. I don't quite understand it...Maybe it was the Grim speaking to him. I certainly haven't heard him though I think I saw him in the woods a few days ago. This morning, I asked Jonathan out of curiosity what the Grim's name is. I had hoped that I could find the name in the records but Jonathan said that the Grim doesn't want anyone to know. Again, I hope that Daithi says nothing to the people in town about this. They'll hang Jonathan on the spot if they think he's communicating with a demon._

 _Maybe I shouldn't be writing this down…._

 _When we returned to town this morning, we discovered a man in the centre of town. He was screaming. He wouldn't stop screaming. He kept screaming about the devil. I don't know what this means. I've heard of banshees before but they only scream as a death omen. Maybe it is, in fact, an omen of death._

 _I feel attached to this place now….I don't know how else to explain what I feel today. Home just feels a lot farther away than it did the day before._

"Sir...I'm going to need your arm." Tyler felt his shoulders rise and his muscles tense with disgust.

"Go on, Tyler. You need this." Jonathan said from the corner of the room where he sat, fidgeting with his hat and it's blue feather. Reluctantly, Tyler closed his book and set the pen down on the bedside table before turning to look at the doctor and the jar of dark water he had placed on the bed beside him.

"You might feel a bit of pain at first but then you won't feel a thing." The doctor reassured him. Tyler stared at the jar as his shirt sleeve was rolled up.

"I heard that European doctors aren't using bloodletting anymore…" Tyler said nervously.

"I've seen this work with my own eyes. My father did as well. He saved many a soul with it from the Black Death when it hit London not that long ago." The doctor smiled.

"It was twenty years ago," Jonathan muttered.

"Mathematician are you?"

"No." Jonathan looked up from his hat, his stern gaze softening when he saw the nervousness in Tyler's. "We trust you not to harm Tyler. He's coughing a lot...Perhaps it is something in his blood."

"And what if it isn't?" Tyler snapped.

"Then we'll try something else." The jar was opened. The creature the doctor held in his gloved hand squirmed. Tyler looked away, feeling like he was going to be sick. The leech latched onto his skin as the doctor reached into the jar for another. Tyler took a deep breath, his eyes on the ceiling as his collar was pulled back so the leech could find a spot on his chest.

"How long will this take?"

"Not long." The doctor reassured him as he reached for another leech.

"How many do you need?"

"We'll see…"

"I don't feel reassured, Jonathan." Tyler spat. Jonathan chuckled. Tyler narrowed his eyes at him. A cough rattled his shoulders. Another leech sank its teeth into Tyler's skin. A drop of blood trickled down his arm to the blanket, turning the dark wool black where it landed. Jonathan stared back at Tyler. "Can we have a moment?" Tyler asked the doctor who nodded, putting the lid on the jar. He set it down on the desk and left the room, closing the door behind him. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"About what?"

"You accused me of witchcraft last night in front of Daithi."

"We're Witch Hunters! He wouldn't accuse us publicly! It was just...I was scared! He was accusing me."

"You said that if you hang...I hang. Why would you say that?"

"I-I don't know…" Jonathan lowered his gaze, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, you do. You know exactly why you said that. You've been acting hateful towards me ever since we got here! If I've wronged you, just tell me, Jonathan! I will not stand by and take that kind of shit from my apprentice!" Tyler snarled. He felt his muscles tense under the leeches.

"I've just been….thinking lately about how we got here and what we've been through," Jonathan said. "I feel that I should be more than an apprentice by now."

"You still have a lot to learn. I'll decide when you're ready."

"What if you're wrong?"

"What?"

"What if you've been wrong about everything this whole time? What if I know more than you? What if I'm already better than you? I know what's going on here." Jonathan hissed.

"Everything you have is because of me," Tyler growled. His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "I could have left you in that dying town. I could have let you die! Instead, I took you with me and I've given you everything! Treated you like my own! Don't make me take everything away!"

"I can take it away too." Jonathan got to his feet and stood at the foot of Tyler's bed. All of a sudden, Tyler felt very aware of how weak he was.

"How?" Tyler challenged him. Jonathan pointed to Tyler's book.

"How do they know that that isn't the devil's book?" Jonathan snarled.

"You couldn't."

"I could."

"Who gave you that idea?" Tyler hissed. Jonathan seemed taken aback by the question. He took a step back, shrugging his shoulders. "It was the Grim, wasn't it?" Tyler sneered. "That demon has been whispering in your ear, hasn't he? Has that demon been telling you what to do? He'll make you sign your soul away, Jonathan! He will damn you to hell!"

"He's not a demon!" Jonathan suddenly screamed. Tyler jumped back against the headboard, startled by Jonathan's sudden outburst. "He's not…" His eyes welled up with tears. "He is just like me...He's scared. He didn't want to be the Church Grim...He was just showing me what to do in case someone accused me…He doesn't want anything to happen to me! He doesn't want anyone to hurt me!"

"That demon is mimicking what you want to see and hear! If you keep this up, you will be accused and I might not be able to stop it!"

"You wouldn't even want to stop it!"

"Jonathan, don't say that."

"You hate me! You only care about yourself! You wouldn't care if they hung me for being a witch!"

"I would do whatever I could, Jon!"

"Damn you!" Jonathan yelled. He took a deep breath, his hand curling around his hat tightly. "I'm going to get your doctor." He turned, pulling open the door. "I think you need another leech."

Tyler's cold fingers tapped against the wood of the pew. He bit the inside of his lip.

"I'm afraid I can't find much on the boy." The pastor said from where he stood by the altar. In his hand was the church's log of every day since it was built. "They mention that he died the day of completion of the church. Sick, it seems. The journey from Europe can be very stressful."

"What is his name?"

"Name?"

"Yes. Does it say?" Tyler demanded. He tore his gaze away from the golden portrait on the wall to look back at the pastor who flipped through the thick pages.

"Oh...It's him. I know that family. I believe that his mother still lives here, in the same house."

"Can I go there?"

"I don't see why not. Does this have something to do with your case?" The pastor asked. Tyler nodded, walking towards him.

"The Grim might have something to do with the witch….I think they are using his image." Tyler explained. He looked up at the pastor, noticing the scar on his face. "How did you get that?" The pastor reached up to his face, tracing the scar. He smiled.

"A nasty fall when I was younger."

The old wooden door in front of Tyler opened just a crack.

"Who is it?" A woman called out.

"My name is Tyler. I just had a few questions for you about your son."

"Why?"

"This a matter concerning the practice of witchcraft in this town that I have been given the job of dealing with." Tyler sighed.

"Are you the Witch Hunter they are talking about? They say that the devil came with you!"

"Not me." Tyler sighed again. The door was pulled open. An older woman dressed in black stared at him for a few moments before letting him in.

"Most people don't come by to ask questions about him." She said as she moved through the small room to sit down by the fire, her black skirts sweeping along the dusty floor.

"What do they come by with?" Tyler asked, looking around the small cabin. It had everything she needed to survive here in the colony and nothing more save for a miniature portrait of her son hanging over the stone fireplace. There was a back room, the door slightly open to reveal a simple bedroom. A cross hung above the bed.

"Prayer. They think praying with me will help my son guide their recently dead loved one." She scoffed.

"You think he doesn't need help?"

"He doesn't. He was always a strong boy…" She trailed off. Tyler sat down across from her on the rickety armchair.

"Is it alright if I ask how he died?"

"He coughed out his lungs." She met Tyler's gaze. He did his best to swallow his fear. "Blood everywhere. He became so frail like something had taken the life from him." She sniffled. "One hour he'd be burning hot, the next freezing cold. He died in his sleep. I'm glad...I'm glad he didn't die in pain."

"Do you think he wanted to be the protector of the Church?" Tyler asked, remembering what Jonathan had said.

"Oh...Of course! He cared about everyone. He would have wanted to protect them." She smiled. Tyler blinked. His fingernails tapped against the wooden armrest.

"You wouldn't lie about that, would you?" Tyler asked.

"No! I'd never lie about that! About anything! I am not a sinner!"

"I see…" Tyler glanced at the portrait hanging over the fireplace.

"Why? Did someone tell you that I'm a liar?"

"No...I just heard something different is all." Tyler managed an innocent smile.

"From who?"

"Someone who said that they...were... friends with him."

"They are a liar."

"Right, of course. I'm glad that you cleared that up for me."

"Believe me." She said as Tyler stood to leave. He staggered, his head feeling light. He turned to look down at her. There was something empty in her eyes despite her knowing tone. "Evan wanted to be the Church Grim."

Snow crunched under Tyler's boots. He shivered under his coat as he walked down the muddy road. He came to a stop, looking up at Brian's home. The windows were dark. Tyler sighed. It had never been this difficult before. Looking around the town, he saw what Daithi saw. He saw crosses and rosaries hung over doors, saw windows boarded up and mothers sitting on front porches, waiting. Tyler took a deep, shaking breath.

It was starting to snow.

Tyler began to cough. His shoulders shook, his chest tightened. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He wiped it away, his skin feeling hot to the touch. Tears welled up in his eyes as he coughed blood onto the snow. He found himself sitting down on the front, snowy step of Brian's home, his shoulders shaking with ragged sobs. He didn't cry because of the pain, he cried because of the weight that hung over him. He felt useless.

He wasn't new to this feeling. He remembered standing in the courtroom, his pleas for mercy falling on ears that wouldn't listen. Everyone had already made their mind up about him. She told him to stop, that they would burn him too.

Another ragged sob clawed its way out of his chest.

"Please…" Tyler had said that night while the fire raged. "Don't take anymore…" He still wasn't sure who he had pleaded with.

"What are you doing out here?" Jonathan was suddenly in kneeling in front of him. He clasped Tyler's bloody hand tightly. "You should be getting some rest. You lost a lot of blood today."

"I-I know…" Tyler stammered.

"Come on...Let's get you back to the inn." Jonathan wrapped his arm around Tyler and helped him to his feet. "Tyler...I want to apologize. I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry."

"I understand...We all do strange things to survive." Tyler breathed. "Can you do something for me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Stop talking to the Grim. Push him out. Don't let him talk to you. Either he is a liar...or his mother is. I don't know which is worse." Tyler managed to explain. Jonathan stopped.

"You know his name."

"I do."

"You can't know that."

"Why?" Tyler demanded. Jonathan took a deep breath, looking down at the snow. He shook his head. "Oh don't say that you can't tell me! You're here to do a holy job! You should know that that is only more proof that he's an evil son of a bitch! Listen to me, Jonathan!" Tyler grabbed Jonathan's collar. Something dark stood on the church steps. Something dark stood in the window of Brian's home. Something dark stood in Tyler's window at the inn. "Need I remind you of that mark on your chest. You will find yourself over your head if you keep forgetting everything that I taught you."

"I'm not forgetting…"

"Yes, you are!" Tyler shook his collar, Jonathan's head snapping back. He stared at Tyler, his eyes wide. "You will push the Grim away!" Tyler shoved Jonathan down to the snow. "You hear me?"

"I do…"

"Good." With that, Tyler managed to turn away from his apprentice and walk down the muddy road. He felt too scared to look back.

The dream started the same. The fire burned. The voices screamed. But instead of falling to the mud, Tyler simply turned away from the fire, compelled to start walking to the woods that rose into the dark night sky. Mud and snow soaked through his boots. The cold wind caught his velvet coat. An owl watched him from the branches, it's large orange eyes unblinking. It watched him walk deeper and deeper into the woods. A grey rabbit followed him, it's nose twitching.

"Mother!" A voice faintly echoed through the night.

Tyler stopped. He wasn't alone.

"Stay in bed, Tyler." A smooth voice said. It sounded familiar. Black leather boots crunched through the snow. A long black coat caught in the wind. "Stop fighting."

"Why should I?" Tyler whispered to the dark, empty woods.

"Because you need something you can never have to keep fighting. You need people to listen to you, to want to listen to you. You want to be strong again. You don't want to be useless."

"I do…" Tyler whispered. "I do want all of that...I don't want Jonathan to die because of me."

"You need something from me." Black gloved hands stretched towards him from the dark. They were holding a book. Tyler stared at it. On the front cover, a cross had been etched into the leather with a knife. The hands opened the book. Tyler's writing scrawled across the pages. The hands stopped at a blank page. "I can give you what you need." Another black gloved hand offered a pen to Tyler.

"No...I won't sign that…" Tyler whispered. "I can't sign…" Several hands suddenly grabbed Tyler, pulling at his coat. They spun him around to face the town square. Tyler's breath caught in his throat. A man hung from the gallows. On the wood platform was a hat, a blue feather twitching in the cold air. Gold thread glimmered in the firelight.

"I think you can sign…"


	12. Chapter 6

"You should go to a hospital."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

"Sami...Just drive, please."

"I'm taking you to a hospital."

"I feel fine."

"No one who is fine faints, Craig!"

"Okay! Fine." Craig leaned his head back against the headrest. "Can we please just get out of here?" His head felt like it was spinning. He looked at Sami who sat in the driver's seat, her eyes on him as she nodded.

"Okay." She started the car, slowly backing it out of the driveway. Craig's eyes turned back to the house. He remembered waking up on the floor. He remembered Sami helping him up as he looked around in a daze for the man hanging from the noose. He remembered standing in the living room shivering while Sami grabbed some of his clothing and his laptop to bring with them.

The house disappeared behind the trees as the car reached the road.

Staring out at the trees, he couldn't get the image of what he had seen out of his head. He could remember that dark room full of people, the tension, the anger. He could remember gold thread and velvet, he could remember a blue feather.

Once on the highway, the red car sped past the turn off towards Sami's house. Craig hardly noticed, his stomach rolling. He could see those boots again, the way the blood dripped on to them and the way the leather glimmered in the light. Craig yelled at Sami to pull over. He threw up his morning coffee on to the dirty snow on the side of the highway.

The emergency room was a mess of people, teenagers holding broken wrists, older women waiting for IVs and those who were sick huddled in blankets. Others waited in silence, their eyes on the beige walls. Sami did all the talking. Craig pulled at the hospital band on his wrist. When they finally saw a doctor, Craig mumbled out answers to her questions. He was given a prescription for medication to help him sleep and the verdict that he was exhausted.

On the drive back to Sami's house, Craig stared out the window watching the flat fields and forests roll past. He continued to pull at the hospital band on his wrist. The car turned off the highway and made its way through suburban streets, past houses that all looked the same before pulling into Sami's driveway. She helped him get out of the car and held his hand tightly as they walked up the icy front path to the front door. Once inside, she told him to go lie down and she'd bring him some tea.

"Don't suffocate me in my sleep," Craig said as he started towards the stairs.

"Why would you say that?" He stopped, looking back at her wide-eyed gaze.

"I-I...I don't know."

"When we look at these stories that people created, particularly ones about death omens and creatures related to death like vampires, ghosts and doppelgangers, we're really looking at the way people thought in this time period. We're looking at what they feared, what they believed. In the case of the witches who were hung or burned, it was a case of fear of the devil due to the church as well as fears of many other things. They feared getting sick. They feared the land they were on." Craig paused his lecture, looking around the room at the students that stared at him. He took a deep breath, looking down at his laptop screen. Sami had argued with him that morning about coming in but he insisted he was fine. "Folklore is all about what people feared. Of course, not all of it is evil or bad, some creatures are harmless, innocent, holy but they are there to protect. Of course, a lot of these fears are still relevant today. We don't want to get sick, we don't want to face what could be coming tomorrow or the next day. Folklore is a way of conveying those fears, that social information."

There were three knocks at the door.

Craig stopped, looking up at the door. He couldn't see anyone through the thin window. Craig started his lecture again only to stop once more. His hands curled into fists as the knocking continued. "Could whoever is making that knocking sound stop?" Confused faces stared back at him. There were three more knocks. "I said stop!"

"No one's making any noise," Scotty said. Craig froze.

The knocking continued.

Craig dreamed of gold. He was swaddled in it like a newborn wrapped in a wool blanket. He stared up at a wood ceiling as the gold feathers were wrapped around his collar, the black velvet cloak draped over him. Someone was tucking flowers into his black hair.

He dreamed of being paraded through town in his wooden coffin and of anger building in his chest with every kissed hand that pressed to the wood surrounding him. He dreamed of seeing the setting sun for the last time, the sky ablaze with colour as the lid was placed over his coffin. He dreamed he was lowered down in the earth and heard the sound of hammers striking nails.

Then silence.

He lay in complete, furious, silence.

His dark eyes stared into the darkness. He wanted to cry.

The silence weighed down on his scratched, bloody lungs.

He wanted to scream.

He dreamed of footsteps. He dreamed that they were getting closer and closer.

Hands pulled at the wood.

They pulled the nails out of the lid of his coffin, ignoring the golden cross engraved into the wood.

Hands pulled the lid off.

He stared at the face that hovered above him.

"What do you say?" A pen was held out to him. "I can give you what you need. Justice. But I'm going to need something from you first."

Craig's eyes shot open. He sat up, looking around Sami's bedroom. A car passed by outside, it's headlights briefly illuminating the room. Looking at the door, he took a deep breath.

He knew what he had to do.

The clock on Luke's desk ticked. Craig glanced between the two professors, his fingers fidgeting with his shirt cuff.

"I think it'd be fine, Simone. Besides, he needs this for his thesis."

"I understand. It's just mid-semester and so short notice, Craig."

"I apologize. I just woke up this morning and felt that I have to go. I don't know how else to explain it. I know it's short notice." Craig sighed. "I'll make up for it."

"About how long do you think you'll be gone, Craig?" Simone asked, straightening her blazer.

"A week. Maybe two. That should be enough time to get enough research about Venefica and find out what happened to Tyler." Craig explained.

"I don't know. Will you be back in time for mid-terms?"

"I suppose I can be."

"Suppose?"

"I don't have dates, I'm sorry."

"Can't you do your research online?"

"I can."

"I got a concerned email about you, Craig, from one of the students. I think you should stay home, close to a hospital."

"That was nothing. I've just been having difficulty sleeping lately is all."

"Are you sure? I've heard of stress getting to people, Craig. If you need to talk with someone-"

"Where is Venefica? Do you have it on you?" Luke suddenly asked, absentmindedly playing with an old pen on his desk.

"It's at home," Craig said quietly. Luke looked up from the pen, his dark gaze on Craig. He blinked the scar on his looking white in the light. Craig couldn't help but wonder if he knew about the things attached to the book. Luke glanced at Simone and smiled.

"I see. If it makes you feel any better Simone, I was the one who gave him this idea."

"Alright, I can give you what you need but I'll need you back after two weeks." Simone suddenly sighed.

"Thank you." Craig smiled. "Thank you."

The front door of the tall white house was locked. Craig struggled with his keys, putting his weight against the door.

"Is there something in front of it?" Sami asked. Craig peered through the small window, making out the outlines of the front table and the door to the kitchen through the white curtain.

"Nothing." Craig grit his teeth and pushed again.

A shadow passed by the door inside.

Neither of them noticed.

"It hasn't been cold enough for it to freeze, has it?"

"How could it have frozen?"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to try a window," Craig said, walking down the snowy front steps. "Wait here." She crossed her arms. Craig gave her a reassuring smile.

She had been confused when he suddenly told her he wanted to go to this town. She had looked down at her coffee cup, hesitant to agree.

"If it doesn't work, then I'll destroy the book. Or at the very least just give it back to the museum."

"And all of this because of a dream you had?"

"Something happened...And it's never been fixed. I feel like I can fix it."

"Fix it?"

"Like...Like justice needs to be served. I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"Okay...As weird as that sounds, fine. But I'm going with you. I don't want you dealing with this on your own." She had said. So she packed a bag and they dropped Craig's dog off at a friend's house before making the drive out to Craig's place. He had dreaded coming back, a stone of fear forming in his chest. Now, trudging around the side of the house, it refused to go away. Snow crunched under his boots.

Turning the corner, Craig made his way through the snow towards the porch. The wood step creaked under his boots. He tried the back door only to find that it stuck too. Sighing, he made his way to the nearest window. He slid it open, snow falling from the sill to the floor inside. He awkwardly climbed through the window, his glasses nearly slipping from his face. A shiver shook his shoulders as he stood up. The living room was dark, the furniture dark silhouettes. The staircase seemed to be draped in shadows. A cabinet in the kitchen was open. Craig stopped in the kitchen doorway, his eyes on the kitchen table. There was a mug on the table placed upside down. Taking a deep breath, Craig placed it back in the cabinet and headed for the front door. Scratched into the table were three lines.

Unlocking the door, he waved for Sami. She followed him inside, her shoulders trembling with a shiver. "It's so cold in here." She whispered.

"I'll be right back." Craig said, heading for the stairs. The wood creaked under his boots. In the landing, he stepped over the table legs, making his way into the office. The golden thread on the velvet jacket glinted in the light. He carefully folded the jacket, setting it in the box. He found the book on the desk, slowly putting it on top of the coat. Heading into the bedroom, he packed up a bag of everything he'd need.

The stairs creaked.

"Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah!" He swung his back over his shoulder and headed into the landing. He stopped, looking down at the table on the floor. With a sigh, he picked it up, carrying it back into the bedroom. He closed the bedroom door and retrieved the box of artifacts. The stairs creaked under his feet on the way down.

The road trailed its way through tall woods. The red car sped down the old highway, the tyres throwing up flurries of snow. With her phone in hand, Sami would dance along to the music she played, her shoulders shimming under her heavy winter coat. Craig laughed and sang along, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The farther east they went, the heavier the snow became. Driving slower on the long road, Craig kept his eyes on the road. They passed an old three-story house, it's windows dark.

"Craig look!" Sami said, tapping his shoulder. He glanced out the window, seeing the trees thin out to reveal the ocean, the setting sun casting grey shadows across the water. In the distance, the light from a lighthouse spun around, it's white beam of light flickering across the water.

They stopped at a small diner for dinner. It was quiet, a local radio station playing in the background. Sitting in a booth by the window, Craig watched the lighthouse on the horizon. "I don't want to sound like I'm regretting coming out here…" Sami started to say, her eyes on the beer in front of her. Craig took an awkward sip of his water. "But doesn't it seem really sudden, coming out here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just the other day you didn't want to go or even have anything to do with Venefica anymore, you wanted to burn it. Now, after a dream, you feel compelled to go and find out what happened to Tyler and his apprentice." She shrugged.

"Compelled is a strong word."

"It's just not what I was expecting. It almost feels like something made you do it."

"Don't say that. Nothing made me do anything."

"Something made you run from your house."

"I'm not a puppet, Sami."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She reached for his hand, giving it a kiss. The waiter arrived then with their dinners, the mouth-watering smell of the french fries on their plates beside big burgers, bringing a smile to Craig's face.

After dinner, Craig paid and quickly followed Sami back out into the snow towards their car. The light from the lighthouse flashed over the water. "Get the heater on!" Sami giggled as they got into the car, her hands rubbing together. Craig started the car, hurrying to turn on the heater.

"Here." He grabbed her hands tightly in his, gently rubbing his fingers across hers. She couldn't help the smile that spread on her lips.

It was late by the time the car turned off the highway, following the GPS on Sami's phone. Old buildings rose out of the forest. Most of them seemed to be from the nineteenth century but among the Victorian architecture stood small old wooden buildings. The car turned down a few small suburban streets, old Victorian homes lining the streets. The car turned again and they soon found themselves in the small downtown core.

"Holy shit."

"Is that the church?" Sami pointed ahead of her to the tall white building at the end of the road. A light shown on the front of it making it seem more foreboding then welcoming. "Creepy." She whispered as they drove past it. Parking out front their hotel a little ways down the street, Craig couldn't help but look back at the church. "Ugh, come on. It's freezing." Sami yawned. Craig nodded, taking the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. He headed inside to check in, the bright floral wallpaper on the walls and the red carpeting jarring to him. Once he got the keys from the tired teenager at the front desk, he hurried back outside to park the car around back and helped bring their stuff inside.

"We can explore tomorrow. Find the museum and stuff." Craig said as they got onto the elevator. Sami pressed the button for the third floor.

"Sounds good. We gotta check out that church."

"We will." Craig yawned. The doors opened and they made their way down the hall to their room. It was small, decorated much like everything else with bright wallpaper and antique furniture. Craig set the box down on the old desk. He took the book out of the box, setting it down on the desk. Looking back on the box, his eyes landed on the jacket. He reached for the lapel, pulling it back to reveal the cross sown into the soft fabric. He felt like he should say something to Tyler but words escaped him.

Voices in the hallway startled him. He closed the box and started to get ready for bed. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he changed into pyjamas and crawled into bed beside Sami who had already fallen asleep, her phone still in her hand. He gently took the phone from her hand and plugged it in, placing it on the bedside table and turned off the light. Laying down, he felt the exhaustion from driving all day coming over him.

Muffled footsteps crossed the carpet.

Someone outside called out to their friends.

There was a cough.

Snow fell softly outside.

The chair slid out from under the desk.

Venefica flipped open, it's pages fluttering till it suddenly came to a stop in the middle of the book, Tyler's writing sprawled across the page.


	13. VI The Wolf

_It's cold today. Colder than usual. Something just feels different today. The back of my neck keeps prickling as though someone is always behind me. It's unsettling, to say the least._

 _The pastor and I attempted an exorcism on Brian this morning. We hoped to save him, to get some answers as to who is enchanting or possessing him. He pointed at Jonathan and said that he's talking with a demon. Then he kept on repeating "no, mother" over and over until he fell into unconsciousness. I fear that the pastor will accuse Jonathan now. I saw Daithi talking to him after mass yesterday. They were looking at Jonathan. Other people in town are throwing accusations around. They are upset with me. I see them looking at Jonathan, at me. They think we're demons. I know I can save myself if I'm accused but Jonathan… I cannot find proof of any other witch! I'm beginning to doubt him._

 _Maybe he really is a witch._

 _Have I failed?_

Tears filled Tyler's eyes. He set his pen down to wipe them away as they fell onto his cheeks. The leech on his chest continued to suck out the bad blood. The memory of hands and cold, tight rope hanging from a gallow in his dream floated through his mind. He hadn't signed the book offered to him, but he couldn't get the image of it out of his mind. He picked up his pen quickly, drops of black ink dripping onto the page.

 _There is still time. I'm missing something. Jonathan must be enchanted because of the way he talks about this Grim. Perhaps it's just using his image to pull him in deeper. To make him sign the devil's book. If that's the case, then the Grim's mother could be behind this. There is something off about the way she spoke about her son. She told me he died from a sickness, that he coughed up blood or in her words, his lungs. But what if he didn't?_

 _Is that where my sickness has come from? Has she cursed me to die like her son did? Why? Or maybe...Is she protecting her son? If so, from what? He's dead, his soul guarding the church. Maybe she's trying to protect him from the devil. But I'm no devil._

 _Or maybe I'm going about this all wrong. What if she's trying to protect us from him? Does she not want our souls to be guided? Is he guiding them to the wrong place? If so, where does he want to take Jonathan? And why has he focused so much on my apprentice? Yes, I've seen the manifestation of the Grim as much as I wish I hadn't, and yet I've never heard him speak to me. The Grim looks just as he does in his portrait; like a false God dressed in gold, feathers and velvet. No, that's too harsh. He was just a boy when he died. It was not him who decided to be dressed like that._

 _He looks like an angel. Maybe, that's really what he is. I want to think that he's an angel...That he is helping Jonathan. He never had it easy. His parents died when he was just a boy...I promised his cousin I'd take care of him, that I'd show him to survive in this evil world where it seems like you can't trust anyone, not even the people you love. I learned that the hard way when I lost her. She never told me about her...practice...but I still tried so hard to save her from those who would hang her. It wasn't her who did those things. It was the devil and now he's here and I'm so scared to see it happen again to Jonathan. I know I've hung witches and here I am writing about the loss of my wife who was a witch….I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to stop the spread of evil._

 _It's so cold...I can barely feel my hands. I hate this time of year here. It's so dark….so lonely._

 _If I was the Grim, buried under a cold church, I'd want to talk to someone too._

 _I must be a wolf in these coming days. I must find the witch. I must find out what happened in the woods. Jonathan is innocent._

Setting his pen down, Tyler looked up at his doctor who sat by the door, a book in hand.

"Get these things off me," Tyler said, gesturing to the leeches on his chest. "I have work to do."

Snow fell heavily upon the small town. With a scarf pulled around his neck and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, Tyler trekked through the snow back towards Brian's home. His hands trembled in the cold, his teeth chattered. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see the church, it's tall spire disappearing into the snow.

His shoulders and hat covered with snow, Tyler hurried up the steps of Brian's home and knocked on the door. The front window was dark. No one answered. Tyler looked back at the cold, empty road.

A grey rabbit sat in the middle of the road stared at him, it's nose twitching.

There were claw marks on the wood walls of the house.

He shivered violently. He knocked again. His hands trembled painfully. Looking down at his right hand, he pulled his glove off. His skin was as pale as the snow, the blue of his veins jarring to look at. He felt sick watching his hand shake.

The door opened suddenly.

"Tyler? What are you doing back here? You aren't going to put him through that exorcism again are you?" He looked up at the young woman standing in the doorway, a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"No. I just...I just have a question for him is all."

"A question?"

"Yes. Nothing more."

"Alright...I don't know how much you'll get out of him. He seems...gone." She sighed, stepping away from the door. Snow swept into the house as Tyler stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Gone?"

"Yes. As if whoever was possessing him left and took him with them." She said, leading him to the bedroom, her black skirts sweeping across the floor. Brian lay in bed, his eyes on the window and the snow falling outside. He looked pale, he looked empty. The young woman left Tyler, quietly telling him that she couldn't bear to see him like this. "Help him." She said, before quickly turning away. Tyler nodded, his pale, hand curling into a fist.

He moved towards Brian slowly. He hadn't moved since that morning.

"Brian?" Tyler whispered, kneeling down beside the bed. Snow on his coat melted through the thick fabric to his shirt. Tyler shivered again as he took his hat off, placing it on the wood floor beside him. "Brian? Can you hear me? I need to ask you something important and I need an honest answer. I need to know so I can stop whoever enchanted you." Brian's eyes suddenly moved to lock onto Tyler. "What happened to you in the woods that night?" Brian's eyes suddenly moved away from him. He was looking at something over Tyler's shoulder. Tyler shivered but didn't dare look over his shoulder. "I need you to tell me what happened, Brian." The smell of rotting meat filled the air, as if someone had killed and skinned a rabbit but forgot to eat it. "Brian. Please. You're wrong. It's not Jonathan. It's someone else. I need you to tell me what you saw, what happened to you." Brian's eyes moved again. Tyler refused to follow his gaze to the corner of the room. Something dark moved out of the corner of his eye. "Brian tell me, god damn it!"

"He looks like a false God...That's too harsh. He looks like an angel…" Brian whispered. Tyler tensed.

"Why would you say that?" Tyler hissed. "How do you know what I wrote in my book?"

"I feel attached to this place now…" Brian said. His eyes shot back to Tyler. "That is what I promised my Kelly…"

"Stop!" Tyler stood, his hand reaching for the cross under his lapel. "Stop it right now. So help me God, I will find the pastor and perform another exorcism if you don't tell me what happened right now!" Brian's eyes seemed to unfocus, his head rolling to the side.

"The rabbit…" He whispered, his eyes on the window. "He watches us...He was there...There were bugs...There were witches, their skin painted with blood and tar...I prayed for death...I still do. I never stopped."

"Witches? You mean you saw people that night? Did you recognize any of them?" Tyler demanded. Brian nodded. "Who? Who was there?"

"There was...a woman in red...And a man...I think he's the butcher's son. And a tall man...The man who cares about the ghosts on the island…" Brian managed to say. Tyler's hands curled into fists. He slowly bent down to pick up his hat. The gold thread of his coat glinted in the light. Standing back up, he stared at Brian. He didn't need a name. "I saw the Grim….And Jonathan was with him…"

"He couldn't have been there. He was with me. We were travelling that day!" Tyler cried, anger filling his voice. Brian closed his eyes. Tyler grit his teeth. How could he have been so blind? Daithi had known who was at the door that night, he had known the devil was there and Tyler had thought nothing of it at the time. He dug his fingernails into his palm. Could he take Brian's word? He pulled his glove back onto his right hand. He was still accusing Jonathan of being there, but that couldn't be true, could it? Tyler took a deep breath. "Was it really Daithi there?" Brian didn't answer. Tyler swore under his breath as he looked towards the window. He could see the woods rising out of the snowy ground. If Daith really was there, he would need proof. Tyler put his hat back on and quickly left the room, his velvet coat swirling around him as he turned.

"You aren't going out there are you?" He stopped at the door. The young woman held onto her apron tightly, her eyes wide. "You'll freeze."

"I have to." Tyler pulled open the door. Cold air wrapped around him.

He needed proof.

He needed to go back into the woods.

Hurrying down the steps, he made his way towards the centre of town where Brian had been found that morning. Through the snow, he could see someone walking towards the church, their hat nearly falling off their head in the cold wind. "Jonathan?" The man turned, looking back at him for a moment only to turn and continued walking towards the church. Tyler sighed, his breath forming a cloud of vapour around him. He'd deal with Jonathan and his Grim later. Daithi was a liar and Tyler wouldn't stand to be accused by a liar.

He turned away from the church and headed for the dark woods. The trees loomed over him, the snow clinging to their branches. Under the cover of the trees, a cold, blue darkness surrounded him. His hands trembled, his teeth chattered. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. The wind picked up, tearing at his coat. It pulled his hat off, sending it spinning through the air before settling on the snow.

Swearing, Tyler ran after his hat, nearly tripping in the deep snow. He bent down to pick it up. Something dark stood in front of him. Tyler jumped back, dropping the hat. For just a moment, a man in a grey coat stood in front of him. He looked angry. "Go away!" Tyler screamed into the dark woods as the apparition vanished into the cold air. "Leave me alone! Leave Jonathan alone, you demon!" He picked up his hat, snow falling from the soft felt. "This whole town is full of demons and liars! You're all selfish! Go to hell! Go to fucking hell!" Tyler began to cough, his chest stinging with pain. Falling to his knees, he coughed up blood and phlegm, spitting it onto the snow. He couldn't breathe, every cough creating more pain in his throat and lungs than the last. His hands felt frozen. Looking up at the dark woods, blood, spit and phlegm dripping down his chin, he could see the dark skeletal trees and the darkening grey sky beyond their gnarled branches. Tyler gasped for air.

Then he saw it.

Carved into a tree was a symbol. He recognized it from his studies. Struggling to get to his feet in the deep snow, he reached into his inside coat pocket for his book and pen. He stumbled towards the tree, ripping a page from his book with trembling hands. He brushed the snow away and pressed the page against the bark, quickly drawing over the page. An outline of the satanic cross began to form out of the black ink. He remembered that it was called the Leviathan Cross, with two lines going through the top and a sideways eight at the bottom. He had seen it in books from almost five hundred years ago. H felt sick as he started at the cross on the page. A cold wind picked up, rattling the bare branches above him. Coughing, he folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket with his book. He had proof.

Warm light spilt out of windows onto the dark snowy street. The town was empty, everyone inside to wait for the storm to pass. Snow flew in flurries around the homes and barns. Smoke rose from chimnies, fires burning brightly in hearths below. The tavern across from the town from the church that watched over everything was full of people who prefer to stay warm with a drink. Jonathan sat with Daithi, his brow furrowed in worry. No one had seen Tyler since his appointment with his doctor.

"Maybe he's gone into the woods." Someone had said, trying to reassure Jonathan but failed.

"Only witches go into the woods." Someone else said.

"Don't say that," Daithi said sharply. Jonathan raised his hand to his shoulder, feeling a gentle hand there. No one could be seen standing behind him but Jonathan could feel warm black velvet wrap around him and gold feathers caress his cheek. To him, nothing felt more holy than when Evan put his cloak around him, protecting him.

Outside, a dark figure staggered down the street, his blond hair matted with ice, his lips blue. He coughed violently, blood dripping from his pale chin to his shirt and the snow, leaving a trail of footsteps dotted with drops of blood. He made his way past the church. The pastor watched him from the window, the scar over his eye looking white in the candlelight. The shivering, coughing figure continued down the road, towards the tavern, his arms wrapped around himself, his back hunched. He could hear voices and laughter, smell warm food.

He staggered up the steps.

He pushed the door open.

The people inside went silent.

Snow swept across the wood floor.

"Tyler!" Jonathan stood up, his eyes wide. "Dear god...Tyler."

"You." Tyler raised a shaking hand, pointing at Daithi who sat beside Jonathan. He stared back at Tyler, blinking calmly. "You...You're a liar…" Tyler took a step towards Daithi. The tall man stood, watching Tyler weakly stagger towards him. "You dare call me...and Jonathan….witches when you...You've been a witch all along."

"I'm no witch." Daithi spat.

"Than what's this?" Tyler reached into his pocket, pulling out the paper. He unfolded it, revealing the satanic cross. "Brian accused you. He saw you that night he was enchanted!" Daithi looked down at the cross. Slowly, he looked back up at Tyler. "I found this carved into a tree in the woods."

"I don't know what that is," Daithi stated. Tyler's hands shook. Was he wrong? He glanced nervously around at the others who stared at him and Daithi with wide fearful eyes. "I'm sorry, Witch Hunter." Tyler felt mocked. Without warning, he suddenly dropped the paper and swung his fist at Daithi, punching him hard in the jaw. He staggered back, falling against the table. Jonathan watched but did nothing to stop Daithi from standing back up and hitting Tyler, his fist connecting with his head. Tyler staggered back, catching himself on a table. Daithi hit him again. Tyler collapsed to the floor, the world disappearing into darkness before he hit the floor.

Soft morning light spilt through the windows and onto the wood floor. Tyler's eyes slowly opened, the soft white light making them look like the colour of ice. His head ached, the skin around his right eye feeling bruised. His face had been washed, and there was a clean shirt folded for him at the foot of his bed. His coat hung on the chair by the desk, his book and pen with the folded piece of paper placed neatly on the desk. His boots, still wet from snow, had been placed where the warm sun would shine on them.

"J-Jon?" He called out weakly. "Jon!" The door opened, his apprentice standing in the doorway. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Tyler awake.

"Good morning. I was worried about you. You had a rough night." Jonathan sighed, sitting down on the bed beside him. Tyler managed to sit up, wincing in pain.

"Where's Daithi?" Tyler gasped out.

"Arrested. For punching a Witch Hunter." Jonathan said. Tyler glanced up at him, surprised. "I know that wasn't what you wanted him arrested for but he's in jail nonetheless." Tyler nodded. He looked up at Jonathan, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. "A-Are you okay?" Tyler shook his head. He pulled Jonathan into a hug, Jonathan's hat falling to the bed.

"I'm sorry I can be so harsh...I just want to protect you. You mean so much to me, Jonathan. You're all I have. No amount of money from doing these jobs will change that. Please...Just promise you won't do anything you'll regret." Tyler cried, his face pressed against Jonathan's shoulder.

"I promise," Jonathan whispered. He pulled away from the hug, smiling at Tyler. "You should get up and try eating something. You'll feel better." Jonathan said, putting his hat back on. He got up, the blue feather bobbing.

"What happened to staying in bed and resting?"

"I've been doing some reading. The pastor lent me some books from England that just arrived. Doctors are saying that fresh air can help a lot with a cough." Jonathan explained. Tyler couldn't help by smile.

"Maybe you should be a doctor since you know so much."

"I don't know...We'll see when we go home." Jonathan stopped at the door. "We'll be home soon, right?" Tyler nodded.

"We'll be home soon."

Dragging his spoon through his porridge, Tyler resisted the urge to gag. His stomach rolled with every bite. Jonathan sat across from at the table, a book open in front of him. The small room was empty of travellers save for them. Outside, the sky was blue, the snow a bright, dazzling white that sparkled in the sunlight. Snow drifts threatened to bury the smaller buildings.

A yell came from outside.

The sound of horses and bells followed. Tyler looked up at Jonathan.

"Is that…?"

"I think so."

"About time. Officials like to take their time." Tyler said as he got up, reaching for his coat and scarf on the empty chair beside him. He hadn't been able to find his hat. He followed Jonathan to the front door as he pulled his scarf on. The cold morning air greeted him, biting his cheeks and nose. A carriage was stopped out front the church. The wood had been painted red and black, the windows all blocked out with thick blankets to keep the cold out. A group of people were gathering around, curious. Children ran up to the large horses, their small arms reaching up to pet their snouts. Tyler and Jonathan made their way towards the carriage. The pastor hurried down the church steps and opened the door.

"Good morning!" The pastor said to someone inside the carriage as Tyler and Jonathan approached. "I'm so glad you could make it." He opened the door and held his hand out. A small hand in a black glove grasped it. A young woman stepped out of the carriage. Her dark hair was hidden under a red hood. She stepped down onto the snow, her thick, expensive red skirts swirling around her.

"A woman in red…" Brian had said. Tyler stared at her. She glanced at him for a moment, her dark eyes looking him up and down before turning back to the carriage. A man stepped out, also dressed in red. His wide hat hid his face. Tyler took a deep breath.

"Is that the magistrate?" Jonathan whispered. Tyler nodded.

"It's good to be here." The man said. There was an accent in his voice. "Has any arrests been made?"

"Just one but not for witchcraft though there are several suspects."

"Then have them all arrested and questioned. There's only one way to find out the truth." The magistrate said.

"Of course." The pastor nodded, glancing up at Tyler then nervously looked at Jonathan. He motioned for the two to join them. "This is our Witch Hunter, Tyler and his apprentice, Jonathan." The pastor said. The magistrate took off his hat, looking up at Tyler with bright eyes. He smiled.

"I'm sure you're doing an excellent job. This is my wife, Sami and I'm Craig."


	14. Chapter 7

Headlights illuminated the dark streets. Old wood cabins with dark windows stared at the car. Craig gripped the wheel tightly. The car turned a corner. A large wooden structure stood in the middle of the road. Snow blew around the hanging bodies. Craig stopped the car. He stared. One of the bodies seemed to turn. It's eyes opened. Craig couldn't move, locked in it's stare. He did this.

Craig awoke suddenly to the sound of crystals clinking against each other, the disturbing images that filled his sleeping mind fading away. Sitting up, his eyes landed on Sami, a handful of brightly coloured stones in her hand. He watched her place them on the window sill and the bedside table, the light reflecting off their smooth surfaces. There was a faint smell of sage and lavender in the air.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked when she placed the last stone on the window sill. She turned, her braids falling over her shoulder.

"I-I...Uh...Nothing really. Just...Locking down the place." She smiled.

"Locking down the place?"

"Yeah. I don't know, some of the stuff you've been through scares me. I don't want it following you or dragging you out of your bed." Sami said, sitting down the bed beside him.

"Are you saying you're a witch?" Craig's lips pulled up into a sly smile.

"I wouldn't say that...It's just some stones and a sage stick. Nothing witchy about that."

"You haven't drawn a pentagram under the rug?" Craig wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

"No pentagrams." She giggled.

"No black cats?"

"None."

"No potions?"

"None of those...Except for moonwater." She smiled, pulling him close for a kiss. Breaking away, he looked up at her, meeting her dark gaze.

"Can...Can I ask why?"

"Why I collect stones and stuff?" Craig nodded. "I don't know...I've always been interested in the idea of witchcraft...Not in a dark way just...Simple practices to make life a bit easier, you know? Just the idea of doing some dark...something bad, scares me. So it's stones and sage and the occasional spell but that's it." Sami shrugged.

"Oh…" Craig said quietly, leaning his head back against the pillow. He stretched, yawning.

"How did you sleep?"

"Okay…" Craig mumbled. "I had a nightmare."

"What about?"

"It's hard to explain...I don't know...I don't really want to remember it." Craig sighed.

"Why don't we get some breakfast? You'll feel better." Sami smiled. Craig nodded, slowly pulling himself out of bed. He got dressed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to forget his dream. It was then that he noticed the small symbol carved onto the bottom of the bed frame.

"Sami...Did you do that?" Craig knelt down by the bed, tracing his finger over the strange symbol.

"No...It looks like a sigil." Sami said from behind him.

"A sigil?"

"It's meant to help conjure things, sometimes positive, sometimes negative. I don't know what that one means." Sami shrugged. "We could switch rooms if you aren't comfortable."

"I'm fine," Craig said, grabbing his phone to take a picture of the symbol. "It's probably nothing." He said, standing up. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and grabbed his shoes.

The dining room was quiet, but that didn't stop the staff from putting out the regular large buffet. Craig filled his plate with eggs, toast, potatoes and bacon, his coffee cup almost overflowing. He sat down across from Sami, the wooden chair and table creaking. Her eyes were on something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as he took a sip of his coffee. There was a photograph hanging on the wall of the church. A young man in a suit stood in front of the church, a car from the 1930s parked in front.

"Doesn't he kinda look like you?" Sami asked quietly.

"I look like every white blonde guy, Sami." Craig laughed, turning back to the table.

"I guess." She smiled. "He just kinda looks like you is all." Their conversation turned away from the picture, commenting on how good breakfast was and figuring out the plan for the day. The church stood tall down the road.

In the photograph, standing by the door of the church was a dark shadow.

"You must be Craig!" A voice called out over the glass cases and artifacts as the door to the museum opened with a clang of a bell. Craig noticed a young man making his way through the aisles towards them. He glanced awkwardly at Sami. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Smitty. Your professor, Luke, told me you'd be coming by." He smiled.

"This is Sami, my girlfriend. Are you the curator?"

"No, I'm just a guide but I know pretty much everything in here and the other artifacts that are borrowed out to the other buildings in town."

"Impressive. I was wondering if it would be possible to do some research with some of the archives you have here? I want to find out more about Tyler." Craig explained. Sami wandered away from the two, peering into the glass cases at the old artifacts.

"Understandable. The objects you have in here are just the tip of the iceberg." Smitty said, taking the box from Craig. He placed it down on a table by the front door. He reached into his pocket for a pair of soft white gloves before handling anything. "You have his coat and his book of course. You also have the very rope that hung the apprentice!"

"What? Luke didn't tell me that!"

"It was quite the scene apparently. We were very reluctant to give this up. Is it alright if I put it back on display?"

"Yes. Take it, please." Craig said, the image of the feet of a hanging man flashing through his mind.

"And you also have Tyler's pen. Some of the other guides have seen it move on its own but I've never seen it." Smitty said, placing the old pen down beside the book. "I'm guessing you want to take a look at records and other documents we have?"

"That'd be great." Craig smiled, his eyes glancing to Sami, watching her move between the cases. He followed Smitty past the large recreation of the room Tyler had stayed in, to a door that lead down to the basement, cold air making him shiver.

"Why is it so cold?" Sami asked as they made their way down the creaking stairs.

"Artifacts, especially paper, can deteriorate a hell of a lot faster at room temperature or warmer air, so it has to stay nice and cool down here. It's amazing in the summer but during the winter, you won't catch me down here without a couple of sweaters." Smitty laughed. Craig awkwardly smiled. Smitty cleared his throat and turned the light on. A long table filled the centre of the room and shelves filled with boxes lined the walls. "I've already pulled down a few boxes for you." Smitty gestured to the cardboard boxes on the table. "I know you said you were researching Tyler but I thought you might be interested in this." He pulled a large box off the shelf, setting it down on the table. On the top in black marker was the word "Grim".

"Grim?" Sami's brow furrowed.

"We did a dig at our church a few years ago and discovered a body. Our Church Grim. They had tried to do it back in the 30s but a man fell into the grave and broke his neck so no one wanted to go near it until a few years ago. We might have a saint situation on our hands but we aren't telling anyone because it would be way too chaotic to deal with. The body was decomposed but you would think he died ten years ago, not hundreds of years ago. We had a team come in and they did a bit of an autopsy, and we discovered he had Tuberculosis but that wasn't what he died from."

"Oh?" Craig asked, opening the box. Inside was a plastic bag containing gold owl feathers that were wilted like flower petals. Underneath was a piece of paper with the Lord's prayer and beneath that was a large piece of heavy velvet.

"He was murdered, strangled to death. They found signs of a struggle and his windpipe was severely damaged." Smitty explained. Craig looked up at Smitty, his eyes wide. He remembered his stairs creaking, remembered reading about a child coughing feathers, remembered a voice screaming for his mother to stop, remembered his dream of lying in dark, furious silence and thousands of hands pulling at the lid of a coffin.

"Who would murder him? Did they know that was how he died when they buried him in the church?" Craig asked. Smitty shrugged.

"The official record we have says he died from Tuberculosis. His mother had claimed that he died in his sleep." Smitty explained. Craig stared down at the feathers.

"Jesus."

"Tyler and Jonathan seemed to have a very strange connection to this Grim and some think its the Grim that got Jonathan killed and haunted Tyler for the rest of his short life. If he was murdered and the people claimed him to be a saint and holy but his death was a sin...It sounds more demonic than anything if you ask me." Smitty sighed. "And if so, then maybe it's not a saint situation, maybe its something else keeping his body so preserved. That idea would scare a lot of people, especially in this town where weird, demonic like things happen every day. I've been scratched before. My neighbour saw the apparition of what might have been the Magistrate running down the road. Someone else claimed to actually see Tyler one time. If you tell people the source of all of it is the Grim, they wouldn't be too happy with you."

"You should at least tell people how he really died." Sami suddenly said. "Give him closure."

"I've thought about it...It's just...People around here are very passionate about the Grim and his holiness. Him dying of TB but wanting to be the Grim is a much better story than him being murdered and possibly forced into being the Grim because of circumstance." Smitty explained. "People around here pride themselves on believing wholeheartedly the best story, not the truthful story."

Old documents and notes littered the table. An old felt hat with a faded blue ribbon wrapped in protective plastic made the centrepiece of the messy table.

"This is depressing." Sami said, setting the document in her hands down on the table. "Can we get some lunch?" She got up, walking around the table to him. She rested her chin on top of his head.

"You can go get something." Craig said, absorbed in the document he was reading. It described the incident at a tavern between Tyler and a local man who attacked the Witch Hunter.

"Aw come on!" Sami pulled his arm. "Come with me! These will all be here when you get back!" She pulled him to his feet. They pulled on their coats and headed for the stairs. They made their way back upstairs, through the glass cases. Craig stopped, seeing that Smitty had put Tyler's velvet coat back on display. The gold thread glinted in the light. He turned away from the case, following Sami outside. Something dark reflected off the glass.

Outside, sunlight reflected off the layer of snow that covered the ground. Niche boutique store windows lined the street. The white church loomed at the end of the road. A blue and gold plaque stood in the middle of the road, forcing the road to curve around it.

It marked the sight of the gallows.

The two made their way down the street towards a diner Craig remembered seeing on the way in the night before.

Sami stopped, her eyes on a small store window. Craig turned, looking back at her.

"It's a psychic shop. Maybe she could tell us what that symbol carved on to our bed is." Sami said. She pushed open the door before Craig could stop her, the bell above the door ringing. He sighed and followed her inside. It was more crowded inside than the museum. The smell of incense filled the air. Books on mysticism, ghosts, tarot and the healing powers of crystals filled old shelves. A table of rocks took up the centre of the shop. A woman dressed in red stood by the counter, fixing a display of rings. "Excuse me?" The woman turned. "We found this symbol, and we were wondering if you knew it?" Sami explained as Craig reluctantly pulled his phone out and found the picture, showing it to the woman.

"That's a sigil."

"A sigil?"

"Its meant to attract certain kinds of energy depending on the intention of the sigil. This one is meant to attract nightmares."

"Who would put that there?" Sami suddenly demanded. The woman shrugged.

"Hard to say. Most people who practice witchcraft, even just a little bit, know about sigils, good or bad." The woman explained. Craig glanced hesitantly at Sami. "If this is a problem to you, destroying the sigil by crossing it out or getting rid of it will help."

The bell above the door rang as it opened. The woman looked up while Craig and Sami's eyes remained locked on the sigil.

The smell of rabbit meat filled the air.

The floorboards creaked under footsteps.

Cold air sent shivers down the back of Craig's neck.

A shadow passed over the bookshelves.

"You need to leave." The woman said. Craig looked up at her, confused then turned to see if she was talking to someone else. Fear seized his chest.

A tall man in a grey suit stood behind Craig and Sami.

There was a tattered blindfold hanging around his eyes.

His smile was too wide for a human, his skin pulled tight to reveal rows of teeth. Saliva dripped from his sharp teeth. Light reflected in jet black eyes barely visible through the thin fabric over his face.

"Magistrate." The demon smiled.

Sami screamed.

A sudden spark and a smell of sage surrounded them. The woman in red swung a stick of burning sage at the disturbing man, driving him back. The man seemed to morph and disappear before their eyes as Craig grabbed Sami's arm, pulling her towards the door. They burst outside into the snow, sprinting down the street towards the church. Craig looked back, seeing nothing but the empty street behind them. Sami kept running, tears of fear streaming down her face.

They only stopped when the sidewalk suddenly turned into a small snow-covered opening and headstones dotted the ground.

"Oh my god, oh god...What was that?" Sami cried, falling to the snow. Craig knelt down beside her, pulling her into a hug.

"I don't know...It happened so fast…" Craig breathed. Snow fell softly around them. "We should go home. We shouldn't have come here. Tyler's book is home. We can go." Craig said, looking around the old cemetery beside the church. Gravestones blanketed in snow rose from the ground. The two struggled to catch their breath, the air escaping their lungs in clouds of vapour.

"What's that?" Sami whispered. Craig turned, following her gaze to a gravestone that had a cross on the top of it. It was taller than the other markers. Craig slowly broke away from the hug and got up, snow sticking to his jeans. He walked over to the stone, brushing the snow off the engraved words. His breath caught in his throat. "Craig?"

"It's Tyler's." Craig slowly sat down in front of the gravestone, pressing his hand to the cold stone. "I'm so sorry, Tyler. I'm sorry this place was so cruel to you." Sami knelt beside him. She rested her head against his shoulder. Snowflakes fell gently through the cold air. Craig brushed the snow off the gravestone beside Tyler's expecting it to be for his apprentice but it was for someone else. He glanced around, seeing nothing for Jonathan. "There isn't a marker for his apprentice's grave…"

"Then let's make one," Sami said. She got up, finding two fallen sticks. She tied them together with a hairband and stuck the makeshift cross into the snow beside Tyler's grave. "There you go." She smiled. "We remember you." Craig smiled sadly.

A blue feather danced in the cold wind.

Gold thread glimmered like the snow in the sunlight.

Craig turned his head.

A dark figure stood by the church. Gold feathers brushed against dead skin.

Craig slowly stood.

"Craig?" Sami looked up at him.

The Church Grim slowly turned away, walking towards the door. Black velvet dragged across the snow.

Craig followed.

"Craig!" Sami grabbed Craig's hand. He stopped and looked back her. Slowly, she let go. Craig followed the Grim. Snow swept into the church as he opened the door. Sami reached to catch the door before it closed but it slipped from her grasp. "Craig!" He continued down the aisle, looking around the empty church. On the wall, the dark eyes of the boy in the painting watched him.

"Mother! No!" A voice screamed, echoing through the church. "Mother!" The sound of wood splintering broke Craig out of his trance. He looked around in fear, not quite sure how he got into the church.

"Craig!" Sami cried from outside. Something moved under the floor. Craig turned and ran down the aisle to the doors. He tried to pull them open but found they would not budge. "Craig!"

"Sami!" Craig cried, hitting the door.

"Craig…" A quiet voice whispered through the cold air. Craig slowly dropped his hands from the door. He turned. Gold feathers brushed against hair so black it was almost blue. A cold hand reached for his. "Let me...help you…"


	15. VII The Doppelganger

"Jonathan Smith! We know you are in there! Be a good lad and come out quietly and peacefully! You are under arrest for the practice of witchcraft and communicating with the devil!" Tyler's hand tightened on Jonathan's arm. The small room on the first floor of the inn was silent. Snow fell softly in the dying light outside. Their dinner was going cold.

It had taken less than a day and now the Magistrate and the angry people of the small, bewitched town were standing outside, eager to arrest the accused witch. Tears welled up in Tyler's eyes. The two sat at the table, unable to move.

"Daithi said something...He told them what happened on the island…" Jonathan whispered.

"That's not proof." Tyler's eyes slowly moved to Jonathan. "That's not proof…"

"Tyler…" Jonathan slowly stood. Tyler pulled him back into his chair.

"You're not going anywhere. They aren't taking you. Finish your dinner." Tyler snapped. Jonathan stared at him. His gaze turned down the dinner plate.

"Evan thinks I should go with them...He says they'll arrest you too if I don't." Jonathan whispered. "He says you should pretend like you know nothing...Save yourself. Evan said-" Tyler hit the table. Jonathan flinched.

"Enough about Evan."

"Come out now, witch!" Someone yelled from outside.

"The magistrate said he wanted all the suspects arrested...I'm one of them. I'm sure you will be too if you aren't already..." Jonathan said quietly, his eyes on the table. Tyler's pale hand shook.

"You aren't going out there."

"They'll come in here eventually." Jonathan breathed.

"Then let them come in." Tyler hissed.

"Tyler, no."

"Do you have something to confess, Jon?" Tyler looked up at Jonathan. Tyler could have sworn that he saw a dark shadow move out of the corner of his eye. The thought occurred to him that he was going mad. "Do you have something to confess?"

"No."

"Then don't get up again. Don't bring up the fucking Church Grim again. Don't say anything." Tyler snarled.

"Even if I say nothing...They'll find a way to hang-"

"Stop. Stop talking. You are not going to be hanged. You are innocent." Tyler felt like he was convincing himself, not Jonathan. "You won't be-" There was a bang at the door. Than another. Than another. Tyler grabbed Jonathan's hand. Jonathan finished his beer. The door flew open, splintering into pieces. Men stormed into the room. They hauled Tyler and Jonathan to their feet. Tyler swung his fist at the nearest man. His fist connected with his jaw. The man recoiled. The second man hit Tyler. Blood filled his mouth as his teeth dug into his tongue. Tyler spat blood onto the floor.

"Tyler!" Jonathan reached for Tyler. Tyler was pulled away before he could grab Jonathan's hand and pinned against the wall. The red robes worn by the Magistrate swept across the wood floor.

"Check him for the Devil's mark," Craig ordered. Jonathan's jacket was pulled off, the dark blue velvet glinting in the dim candlelight.

"He doesn't have a mark!" Tyler cried. A cough pulled itself from his throat. They pulled at the strings of Jonathan's shirt. "He doesn't have a mark!" Tyler screamed. The dark mark on Jonathan's chest was revealed as the white linen was pulled off.

"Then what is this?" Craig asked, turning to look at Tyler. He was revelling in the anger and pain on Tyler's face. "Take him away." Craig gestured to Jonathan. The men dragged him towards the door. Tyler struggled, yelling at them to stop. Jonathan looked back at Tyler, his eyes wide.

"Stop it! Stop! He's done nothing!" Tyler cried. "Stop!"

"That's enough," Craig said calmly. The men dropped Tyler to the floor and left him there. Tyler coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth like the tears from his eyes. "Stop your crying. I don't see you as a suspect with your apprentice...yet." Craig warned. Tyler said nothing, his bright eyes on the floor. Tyler's face burned with a fever and shame. It burned with anger and blood. "Good evening, Witch Hunter." The Magistrate headed for the broken door, passing the Pastor who stood in the doorway.

"You found the boy, sir? Perhaps now the devil will leave us." The Pastor said, his hope sounding false to Tyler.

"The Devil is in that pagan painting in your church." The Magistrate snapped. "Burn it." He stepped out into the snow, not caring about the look of shock on the Pastor's face. The Pastor glanced back at Tyler who remained on the floor, his pale hands shaking.

"Tyler?"

"Leave me." Tyler hissed.

"Let me help you get to bed." The Pastor insisted.

"I said leave me!" Tyler suddenly yelled. "All you've done is take from me! You took my wife! Now you've taken my apprentice! He's not a witch! He didn't bring him here."

"Sir, I didn't do those things. I didn't take your wife…"

"You're all the same...It doesn't matter who you think you are…You're all the same."

"Don't feel as though you are attached to your apprentice's sins. You won't be accused, Tyler."

"Don't say that to me. I do this to people. I sentence them to hang for things as silly as a mark on their chests. I would accuse anyone close to them too..." Tyler hissed. His eyes filled with tears. "I'm going to Hell…" The Pastor knelt down in Tyler, his eyes meeting Tylers.

"I can help you, Tyler. I can give you what you need." The Pastor smiled. Tyler was trapped in his gaze. "Redemption."

"Are you going to burn the painting of the Grim?" Tyler suddenly asked, his sick lungs burning with pain. The Pastor stood, turning towards the door.

"The Devil cannot be contained in a painting, Tyler." The Pastor left the inn, leaving the Witch Hunter on the floor. Only when he knew he was alone did Tyler let out a wail of pain.

 _I've done this to people. I've hanged them. I've hunted down witches. I've burned graves home to demons. I've exorcised demons from human bodies. I can save my apprentice from the rope I have sentenced many others to before. I have to convince them that what Brian said is true. Daithi, the boy and the woman in red are the witches. I have the symbol as proof. I have to convince them._

 _They arrested Jonathan last night and I was told they began questioning him. If they hurt him… All they need is one confession. It's so easy to get one. Pain makes people do things...say things...they normally wouldn't._

 _All Jonathan has done, as far as I know, is talk with the Grim. I've never heard the Grim's voice...Maybe there is a reason Jonathan is able to reach out to him. Maybe there is a reason the Grim chose him. If the Grim is staying by his purpose, he's guiding Jonathan's soul, not taking it. So why does Evan seem so malevolent to me? What went wrong? His mother said he died peacefully in his sleep with the desire to be the Grim. Did the Devil find Evan before the angels could? I can't rely on the Grim to prove Jonathan's innocence, I don't trust that entity. I don't trust what Jonathan says about him._

 _The trial will begin tomorrow. I am terrified. I don't know if they will believe me...They have to. I must find something else to support my claim. There has to be something else... Something I'm missing. The Magistrate is here to hang someone and he will not leave till he does._

Setting the pen down, Tyler looked around Jonathan's room. It was a mess. The town's sheriff had come with a few men to do a search of his belongings. They found a book on demons that Tyler had given him. They found a straw doll from their last case that Tyler had suggested they take with them. They found owl feathers and sharp metal nails under his bed. Tyler felt sick. He had tried to explain the book and the doll but no words had come out of his mouth when they swept the feathers and nails out from under the bed.

"I don't know where those came from…" Tyler had finally said. The sheriff and his men had left satisfied with what they found. Tyler stared around the room. There had to be something. There had to be something that would prove Jonathan innocence. He looked down at his book on the desk in front of him. He blew air onto the fresh ink words to dry them before flipping to the beginning. He read over his writing, searching but all he found was his own doubts about Jonathan. "Fuck!" Tyler stood up suddenly, throwing Venefica down onto the table. "Fuck!" He threw the chair across the room. He pulled at his hair. He grabbed the book. He grabbed at the pages and pulled. Paper fluttered to the floor like the snowflakes falling outside. A drawing of a lantern, drops of blood splattered across the page, landed on the floor as softly as a feather. "Fuck!" Tyler screamed. Tears spilt from his eyes. The floorboards in the hallway creaked. Tyler dropped his book to the floor. The leather was cracked. He began to cough, the taste of blood filling his mouth. "Fuck…" The door creaked open. Tyler covered his tear stained face with his hands. A strangled noise filled the cold air. Tyler slowly lowered his hands, his eyes turning to the door. He screamed, stumbling back. His boot slipped on a piece of torn paper. He fell to the wood floor, his head hitting the floorboards. Tyler lay dazed on the floor, surrounded by the pieces of his torn book.

In the doorway stood a man. A blonde man. A man with black, sunken eyes. A man Tyler was certain lay in his bed, enchanted by a demon. Brian stared at Tyler, blood spilling from his lips. He stared at Tyler who couldn't bring himself to stop the darkness that slowly surrounded him.

"Enough about Evan…" A voice said. It laughed. "Enough about Evan…" The Church was quiet, candles filling the darkness with a dark glow. Tyler stood in the middle of the church, his eyes locked on the altar in front of him. Something dark moved behind him. "Enough about Evan…" The Grim smiled. He pulled himself out of the shadows behind Tyler, the feathers around his throat glimmering in the dim light. "Enough about Evan…" His black hair fell over his eyes. "Enough about Tyler." The trap door under Tyler's feet fell open, the rope tightening around his neck.

Tyler awoke with a scream, his eyes wide. He sat up quickly, looking around Jonathan's dark room. The door stood open, the hallway plunged into pitch darkness. Tyler's hand slowly went to his throat. His head throbbed. The skin felt bruised, as if someone had choked him.

Tyler's pen rolled out of the darkness. He slowly took the pen, his gaze rising to the dark doorway.

Slowly, Tyler rolled the pen back. Silence hung heavy over the inn. Tyler could hear the constant ring in his ears, the beat of his heart. He stared at the doorway. He could see the dark, towering outline of something standing there.

The pen rolled back to Tyler.

The streets were empty. Houses were silent. The church stood still. Voices spilt out of the small town hall. People crammed into the room, sitting on wooden chairs or leaning against the wall. They whispered behind hands. They laughed at a crude joke. Lanterns illuminated the dark, claustrophobic room. Someone threw a bottle at the young man sitting at the front of the room, his hands on to the table in front of him. The bottle missed his head, the ripple in the air making the blue feather on his head flutter. The brown bottle smashed onto the wood floor. the large doors at the end of the hall opened suddenly, snow sweeping across the floor. The boy with the blue feather tucked into his hat turned, a look of relief spreading across his face. Tyler made his way through the angry crowd, trying his best to ignore the vicious words spat in his face.

"Witch lover!"

"You put the devil in that boy!"

"Evil scum!"

Someone shoved Tyler, making him stumble. He gripped the edge of a chair, his dying lungs gasping for air. He grit his teeth and kept going. Finally, he made his way to Jonathan, who reached for his hand, gripping it tightly as he sat down.

"Sorry I'm late," Tyler said quietly. There were dark circles under his eyes and a bruise in the shape of fingers coiling around his neck. Tyler pulled his collar up higher around his neck. Too proud to admit that he was wrong, he said nothing about the Grim that stood just out of the corner of his eye all night since rolling his pen back to him from the shadows.

"Don't worry." Jonathan whispered, barely audible over the roar of the mob.

"I'm getting you out of this."

"Tyler…"

"Don't." Tyler stared at Jonathan. "Don't-" A cough wretched itself out of his lungs. He pulled his handkerchief from his velvet coat, pressing it to his mouth. Dots of blood stained the white fabric.

"Tyler, you should be resting." Jonathan's voice was quiet. Tyler lowered the handkerchief. "It's okay."

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing…"

"Jon."

"They did nothing...I just...I stood. All day and night. And they asked me questions." Jonathan's eyes filled with tears. "It hurt so much. I could do nothing but stand..."

"Did you give them a confession?" Tyler demanded. Jonathan stared straight ahead. "Jonathan! Did you confess to something you didn't do?"

"I did do it," Jonathan whispered. Another bottle flew from the crowd, hitting the table beside the Witch Hunter. Tyler suddenly got to his feet, seeing a man laughing at him. He took a few steps forward and punched the man as hard as he could. A tooth flew from the man's mouth. The crowd quieted.

"Shut up." Tyler snarled before sitting back down beside his apprentice only to come face to face with Craig, his red robes the colour of blood. "I-I…"

"You were provoked," Craig said calmly. He glanced at Jonathan who shrunk away from him. Tyler's fists tightened. Craig smiled at him. "Silence!" His attention turned the room. Slowly, they quieted. Craig took a seat at the table at the front of the room beside the sheriff, and the sheriff's apprentice, a young man named Adam. A quiet jury sat at the side of the room, watching Jonathan. On the other side of the room, Sami watched Tyler and Jonathan with interest. "Jonathan Smith, you have been accused of practising witchcraft and communicating with the Devil. To begin, Tyler, do you have anything to say on behalf of your apprentice?" Eyes turned to Tyler who slowly stood, the gold thread on his velvet coat glinting in the dim light.

"The accusation of him being a witch is a lie. You have no proof. I've known Jonathan since he was a boy. He goes to church. He is kind to everyone he meets. He has never talked with the devil. He's never practised witchcraft!" Tyler said, turning to look at the crowd. He met the gaze of the Pastor. "I have seen witches! I have seen what they can do to a town! Your town is bewitched, no doubt about it! But the witch is not Jonathan! I have hung witches! Please, give me more time and I will find your witch! Jonathan is not the witch!"

"I've seen him talk to nothing!" Someone yelled.

"I've seen him in the church, talking to that hellish painting!"

"Witch!"

"Enough." Craig raised his hand. The crowd obeyed. Reluctantly, Tyler sat back down. "The time for your proof of his innocence can come after we've heard from our witnesses. May our first witness come forward?" The crowd shifted. Daithi pushed through the crowd. Tyler stared at him, rage building in his aching chest. Jonathan slowly lowered his hands from his face, looking at Daithi with pleading eyes. "Tell us about what happened on the island, please."

"Well...These two had come to me, asking about the ghosts on the island."

"Liar!" Tyler suddenly yelled. "You came to us!"

"Silence, please." Craig reprimanded him. Tyler glared at Craig. "For the jury, tell us who these 'ghosts' are."

"Two young men who died there, their names are Smitty and John. They were good boys. Their death was a tragedy."

"And do you believe that Jonathan was going to use their death for his evil doings?"

"I do, sir."

"Bullshit." Tyler hissed. "That's not happened! Daithi knew what was at the door! He knew it was the devil! He told us so!"

"Tyler, enough. Speak again without being asked and you will be thrown out." Craig snarled. "Daithi, continue telling us what happened."

"I knew something was off on the way there. Tyler wrote the whole time in his book but Jonathan kept...staring at something behind me. It scared me. We arrived at the island and Tyler disappeared into the woods, but Jonathan had stayed close. I heard Tyler coughing a lot. The thought occurred to me that maybe Jonathan cursed his mentor. So I kept my eye on him. They had said they wanted to help the 'ghosts'. Later, Tyler had gone into one of the boy's rooms...And he seemed to go into a trance, as if Jonathan had bewitched him. He stared and was barely responsive. After that, when they thought I was asleep, I heard them talking."

"What were they talking about, Daithi?" Craig asked calmly. Tyler put his hand over his mouth, biting his tongue to stop the words in his throat.

"How Tyler is sick. And Jonathan wanted to help him...With his powers."

"I didn't say that…" Jonathan whispered.

"Sir, may I speak?" Tyler said through gritted teeth.

"Let Daithi finish his full statement, please." Craig insisted with narrow eyes.

"When Tyler refused, something hit the wall outside. It was this...knocking sound. There were shadows outside. Jonathan had brought demons...They started yelling about the Church Grim and Jonathan...he pointed at Tyler's book and said it was a grimoire."

"Daithi, are you accusing Tyler, a Witch Hunter, of also being a witch?" Craig asked cautiously. Daithi turned his gaze, meeting Tyler's furious eyes. Daithi's gaze didn't waver. Tyler remembered shoving his book in Daithi's face, telling him that it was nothing more than a journal. If he lied, Tyler wasn't sure what he'd do. He stared at Daithi, waiting.

"No, sir. Just his apprentice."

"Is it possible that Tyler could be a witch?" Craig asked.

"Maybe. He is Jonathan's mentor. Jonathan could've learned it from him."

"I see." Craig glanced at Tyler for a moment. "Is that true, Tyler?"

"I'm not a witch. I've never taught Jonathan anything about witchcraft save for how to stop it."

"What happened after the knocking, Daithi?" Craig asked calmly.

"Well, the knocking moved to the door. Tyler opened the door despite my protests. There was this great black mass and he shot at it but it did nothing. I pulled Tyler back and closed the door….but the thing that was out there...I knew it was in that house now."

"How did you know?" Craig demanded. Daithi's eyes widened, realizing what he had said.

"I knew...I knew because...Because Jonathan wickedly proclaimed that it was in the house!" Daithi cried. "It was terrifying!" Jonathan grabbed Tyler's hand to stop him from getting up. Tyler's fists shook with rage. "He then disappeared in a cloud of shadows and returned with the morning light."

"Thank you, Daithi. Tyler, is that telling of the events true?"

"No sir."

"Then tell us, according to you, what happened on the island." Craig requested. Tyler stood, fighting back a violent cough. The taste of blood and phlegm filled his mouth. He told them about Daithi coming to them for help with getting the ghosts to Heaven, told them about the trance and how he couldn't explain it but knew Jonathan couldn't have done it because of his concern, and he told them about the shadowy mass and how Daithi seemed to know instantly that it was the devil. "Why do you think Daithi knew it was the devil?

"Because he's a witch," Tyler said simply.

"Are you accusing Daithi of witchcraft?"

"Yes. I am." Tyler snapped.

"Where is your proof?"

"Here." Tyler pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it to reveal the symbol there. "It was carved into a tree in the woods." Craig reached his hand out for the paper.

"How do you know that Daithi drew this?"

"That is one of the symbols for the Devil. I know that Daithi drew it because…" He glanced back at Daithi. "Brian told me it was him. He told me that Daithi, a woman in red…" Tyler turned, his icy stare finding Sami sitting at the side of the room, her red skirts pooled around her. Her gaze remained unchanged. "And another man, the butcher's son who I've discovered is named Scotty…" Attention went to a young man at the back of the room. His brow furrowed in confusion and shock at the accusation. "These people are the witches that plague the town."

"You're going to trust the word of a possessed man?" Daithi snapped. "How do you know that's not the voice of the witch trying to trick you?" A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Tyler opened his mouth to speak but found he could say nothing. "Brian is untrustworthy while under the possible control of a witch, you should know this, Tyler!"

"Brian said he saw you in the woods, Daithi."

"Only witches go into the woods!" Someone from the crowd called out.

"You said you found that symbol in the woods," Daithi said. "Why were you in the woods?"

"I thought you weren't accusing me of witchcraft."

"Maybe I changed my mind."

"We are here for the trial of Jonathan. Not Daithi, not Tyler, though your accusations will be taken into consideration. Let us hope that no proof can be found against you, Tyler." Craig said calmly but Tyler felt threatened. "Please sit down. May we please have the next witness?" The Pastor made his way through the crowd as Tyler sat back down beside Jonathan. The Pastor blinked, the scar over his eye white in the dim light. "You never accused Jonathan but you did see something, yes?" Craig asked. The Pastor nodded. "What did you see?"

"It was late at night. I was in my room working on a translation when I heard something in the church. So I opened my door to see if anyone was there. It was pretty dark but I saw Jonathan by the painting of the Grim in the church. He was talking to it. It almost sounded like a conversation. He would pause and then respond. Then I saw this...dark shadow behind him and he turned to face it without fear. I was so scared, I could not move. Jonathan, he held his hand out to the shadow, letting it be enveloped by it." The Pastor stopped. Tyler glanced at Jonathan who couldn't meet Tyler's gaze. "I saw Jonathan communicate with a devil."

"Do you have anything to say to this on behalf of your apprentice?" Craig asked.

"No." Tyler reluctantly said. "I have nothing to say to that."

"The Grim isn't a devil," Jonathan said. Tyler's eyes widened as he looked at Jonathan.

"Jonathan."

"It's true. Evan was murdered. You shouldn't be putting me on trial, you should be putting his mother on trial!" Jonathan cried, standing up to point at the woman who stood in the crowd, her dark eyes wide. "She suffocated your Church Grim to death! Held him down and choked the dying life from him! You murdered your son! You told everyone he wanted to be the Grim!"

"Jonathan…" Tyler stared at Jonathan. He looked at Craig, wanting to stop Jonathan but knew if he did anything it would only make him look guilty. "Jonathan!"

"How dare you accuse me of murdering my son?" The boy's mother screamed. "You witch! You vile witch! You're telling lies about me, trying to make me into a monster like you! It won't work! You witch!"

"You choked your son to death! You ignored his screaming and crying! You murdered Evan!" Jonathan yelled back. The woman suddenly screamed in agony, collapsing to the floor.

"Is that not proof enough that he is a witch? Hang him!" Daithi cried as the woman was carried out of the room. Craig watched, his expression unreadable. Tyler yanked Jonathan down into his seat. The sheriff whispered something into Craig's ear.

"The official record shows that Evan died from illness. He was not murdered. A grieving mother crying out in pain from her loss is not enough proof of witchcraft, Daithi. A possession or enchantment in front of all these people would be enough but since we have not seen the devil at the work, we must rely on what people have seen in the past and what they have written down. Tyler...May I read your book aloud to the court, please?" Craig asked. Tyler froze.

"My journal...is private, sir."

"No evidence is private," Craig said calmly. Hesitantly, Tyler reached into his coat, pulling out the journal. He got up, and slowly gave it to Craig. He watched him open the book, flipping through the pages. "Why are some of the pages torn out?"

"I was angry, sir."

"Angry at what?"

"What's been going on."

"What was on those pages?"

"The events of what happened on the island," Tyler said through gritted teeth. He silently cursed at himself for being so stupid.

"I see," Craig said, turning the page. He glanced up at Tyler, then began to read aloud. "The pastor and I attempted an exorcism on Brian this morning. We hoped to save him, to get some answers as to who is enchanting or possessing him. He pointed at Jonathan and said that he's talking with a demon. Then he kept on repeating "no, mother" over and over until he fell into unconsciousness. I fear that the pastor will accuse Jonathan now. I saw Daithi talking to him after mass yesterday. They were looking at Jonathan. Other people in town are throwing accusations around. They are upset with me. I see them looking at Jonathan, at me. They think we're demons." He paused as the crowd yelled at them, confirming Tyler's fears. "I know I can save myself if I'm accused but Jonathan… I cannot find proof of any other witch! I'm beginning to doubt him. Maybe he really is a witch. Have I failed?" Craig set the book down. Tyler couldn't turn around to face Jonathan. Anger was bubbling in his chest. "Have you failed, Tyler?"

"Fuck you," Tyler said quietly, his hands shaking with rage. "Fuck you. How dare you use my words against me and my apprentice like that? How dare you sort through my personal, private book, deciding what works for your lies and what doesn't? How fucking dare you?" Tyler screamed. Craig hit the table.

"How dare you yell at me?" Craig screamed back. Suddenly, the rage vanished from Craig's face, replaced with a look of confusion. He looked lost. He looked unfamiliar to Tyler. Craig starred with wide eyes at Tyler. As quickly as it came, the look of confusion disappeared, anger coming over Craig's features. "Get out!" Craig yelled. "We'll hear what you have to say once you've learned your place!" Two of the sheriff's men grabbed Tyler, dragging him away from the Magistrate's desk. Tyler kicked and screamed, struggling to get out of their grasp.

"You're all possessed!" Tyler screamed as he was dragged through the crowd towards the doors. "The demon is in the church! Burn the church!"


End file.
